


Le Chat Noir

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Le Chat Noir was the most popular strip club in Paris. Marinette could explain how she wound up there the first time, but she couldn't explain how she kept coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Here Are Some Singles."

Fun Fact: ‘Le Chat Noir’ was thought to be the first modern cabaret where the patrons sat at tables and drank alcoholic beverages while being entertained by a variety show on stage.

Epic Fanart of Sexy Stripper Chat Noir by Goggles McGee. Link: http://goggles-mcgee.tumblr.com/post/138568279843/like-what-you-see-purr-incess-edited-and

SinningCat also drew some lovely art which Mirth linked to me. Link: http://sinningcat.tumblr.com/post/138660655725/some-one-asked-for-the-g-string-lap-dance-from-le

Ice-blue-fox drew this as well. Link: http://ice-blue-fox.deviantart.com/art/Le-chat-noir-589452385

X X X

Marinette had just finished putting the final elegant curls into her short raven hair when Alya arrived. She knew it was Alya without even leaving the sanctity of her bathroom vanity by the way her doorbell relentlessly buzzed. Alya was a leaner. With a beleaguered sigh that bordered on amused, Marinette unplugged her curling iron and went to answer the door.

Alya bounced in without preamble, looked Marinette over from head to toe, and gave her a cheeky grin of approval. “Damn girl, you look fine!”

As an aspiring fashion designer, Marinette never wasted an opportunity to use herself as her canvas for a new look. Unfortunately, living in Paris was not cheap and Marinette was the epitome of a starving artist. Though she worked part-time as a waitress at a café down the street, she dedicated herself to an unpaid internship at Agreste Fashion. Tonight, Marinette wore a vintage dress that she had repurposed and redesigned to save money on fabric. 

Despite its humble beginnings, Alya’s words were true. The dress was beyond stunning. It sculpted to Marinette’s slender figure, complemented her pale skin and inky tresses, and was still hip enough to wear on a day-to-day basis. Marinette had started on a short red dress with ribbon-thin straps and a sensibly-cut neckline. She trimmed it short and daring, leaving a display of sleek sexy leg that would make even a blind man stare. However, Marinette liked to leave things to the imagination. To keep some modestly, she overlaid the red bombshell with a floral lace. It had three-quarter sleeves, a high neckline that opened the tops of her shoulders, and fell nearly to her knees. To tie everything together and keep an hourglass figure, Marinette finished it with a simple black belt.

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” Marinette said grudgingly and looked over her friend. “And what’s with your look? Is it lesbian-chic?”

“I resent that,” Alya snorted, “and I can sample the other side of the buffet if I feel so inclined.” 

As a journalist, Alya usually went for a mix of comfort and professionalism. Tonight, she had dropped all pretense and rocked comfort. She wore her favorite skinny jeans that had been washed so many times they were ripped and faded beyond repair. However, they hugged her booty and made Alya feel like a million bucks. She had on a black crop top with open shoulders and tiny metal clasps between her breasts to bare as much caramel-colored skin as possible. To complete the look, she had on a long tribal necklace and silver stiletto heels.

Alya adjusted her breasts, seeming to consider popping another clasp. “Not everyone has to have your lame taste in blue-eyed blonde-haired white boys,” she retorted.

Marinette flushed despite herself. “I do not—”

Alya held up a hand for silence and began ticking off her fingers. “Chad, Brad, Rolf, Devin, and Spike,” she said plainly. “Especially Spike.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “So I have tastes,” she snapped at Alya.

“Although any self respecting woman would have gone after Rolf,” Alya continued as though Marinette hadn’t spoken. “He was finer than China.”

“He was German,” Marinette said and turned her back on her friend. She opened her closet, looked down at her few shoes with a sigh, and reached for a pair of black ankle boots with a low practical heel.

“Girl, if you put boots on with that awesome dress, I will kick you in the kneecap,” Alya warned.

Marinette sighed again, put the boots away, and produced a pair of heels with a Victorian flare. She sat down on the couch, tugged them on, and stretched her legs out for approval.

“Better,” Alya relented. From Marinette’s earring tree, she chose a pair of simple black flowers and handed them to her friend. “Less is more sometimes, but you still need lipstick.  
Girl, it’s your birthday!”

Marinette almost dropped the earrings, surprise showing on her face.

“You didn’t?” Alya asked incredulously. “Marinette, you’re hopeless. How did you forget your own birthday?”

“I’ve been busy,” Marinette protested. “Gabriel Agreste is holding a competition next month. He’s going to choose an intern to take—”

“I know,” Alya interrupted. “You’ve told me a million times and I’m covering the story. But that’s next month!”

“It’s never too early to get a head start,” Marinette said keenly. She put in the earrings, smoothed her hair, and chose a tube of lipstick. After applying some, she dropped it into her purse along with her wallet, phone, and keys. 

“Speaking of getting a head start,” Alya said with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s go already!” 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Marinette repeated.

Giggling, Alya pushed her friend out the door, barely giving Marinette time to lock up. “It’s a surprise!”

…

Paris was always sweltering in the summer, but now that night had fallen, it was delightfully cool. The Eiffel Tower glimmered like a fantasy castle on the skyline, lights danced on the undulating waters of the Seine River, and the streetlamps glowed like amber will-o-the-wisps. Marinette would have been happy to sit on the fire escape of her apartment building and sketch, but it felt like years since she had last been out with Alya and she couldn’t deny her excitement. 

Marinette kicked the door of Alya’s car fiercely, which was the only way to open it, and climbed into the passenger seat. The interior was clean and neat, but the car had the worst curb appeal of any vehicle in Paris. “Are you ever going to get rid of this clunker?” she asked as Alya slid behind the wheel.

“Maybe when I get married,” Alya said with a grin. “I’m attached to it.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes. Alya had had this beast of a car since they were in high school together. As a source of Alya’s constant complaints then, it never ceased to amuse Marinette that Alya would keep the car now that she had the money to bail it out or get a better car.

“I can’t believe it still runs,” Marinette said.

Alya pulled away from the curb in front of Marinette’s apartment building, eased into traffic on the main thoroughfare, and headed uptown. Marinette gazed out the window at the designer boutiques she dreamed of having stock her clothing line and picked at the hem of her salvaged dress. Though beautiful, it felt modest in the glittering glamour of Paris. 

“Here we are,” Alya announced as she pulled into the parking lot with a bump.

Marinette tore her gaze from a haberdashery with a display of exquisite suits. She looked up at the black lettering, standing out starkly beneath bright yellow lamps and casting interesting shadows on the building. “Le Chat Noir,” she read aloud. 

“Yup,” Alya said as she parked and shut off her car. She fiddled with the switch for her headlights, finally gave the dashboard a shot with her fist, and the lights went out. 

“What is this place?” Marinette asked as she climbed out of the car.

“It’ll be better if I just surprise you,” Alya said mischievously.

A little bolt of worry went down Marinette’s spine. What on earth was Alya planning?

Together, they walked up to the front door. A tall broad-shouldered man in a black shirt opened the door for them and then Marinette found herself in a whole other world. Between the pulsing lights and the throbbing music, her eyes were drawn immediately to the elaborate stage. A man danced with wild abandon, his abs glistening beneath the hot lights, every muscle sliding beneath his chocolate skin. Dark tattoos circled his bicep, ringlet curls flopped in his face, and he smiled at the audience.

One moment, he had pants on. 

The next just a g-string. 

“Oh my god!” Marinette shrieked and her face flamed with color. It was only Alya’s hand in the small of her back that kept her from dashing right back out the door into the night. Well, that and her towering spike-heeled shoes. Running wasn’t really an option.

“Don’t even think about it,” Alya said sternly as she paid the cover charge and forced Marinette to hold out her hand for a stamp. “You are twenty-one now and you’ve never had a night of balls-to-the-wall fun in your life. You’re staying until I let you leave.”

Marinette stared at her friend with wide eyes. “What? But—”

“No buts,” Alya said sternly and slapped a wad of crisp bills into Marinette’s chest. “Here are some singles. Just let me know if you need more.”

“Alya!”

“If you don’t get some blood back into the rest of your body, you’re going to pass out,” Alya warned.

Marinette put a hand to her flaming cheek in embarrassment. 

It was still early yet and the middle of the week so Le Chat Noir wasn’t as packed as it probably should have been. Alya had no trouble pushing Marinette through the crowd and sitting her down firmly at a table right in front of the stage. Marinette squeaked helplessly, staring up at the washboard abdomen of the current dancer as he twisted to the beat. He had a chain draped over his body, the links rattling as he swept them between his legs. 

“Stay here,” Alya said over the music. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

“Alya!”

“I said stay,” Alya told Marinette and then she turned away.

Marinette didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. She tightened her fingers around the dollars in her lap and tried not to stare. The sight was captivating, if not for the nearly-naked man on full display than for the spectacle at least. Marinette found herself fascinated as he gripped a silk sheet hanging from the ceiling and swung himself onto it. She couldn’t imagine the strength it took to hold himself up by one hand, stretching the other imploringly to the audience as he grinned.

One woman in a sparkly blue sequined dress that Marinette wouldn’t have been caught dead in rose onto the tips of her sky-high heels to put a dollar into his hand. He leaned down so close to her that Marinette thought they would kiss before whirling away with a smile. He dropped down onto the stage, turned his butt to the audience, and began shaking it to the beat of the pulsing techno music. The song ended before Marinette even grasped the steps to his dance. He took a bow and left the stage.

“Enjoying yourself?” Alya asked as she rejoined Marinette. “You’re drooling.”

Marinette wiped her mouth before she realized Alya was kidding.

“Here,” Alya said and handed over a fizzy drink she knew Marinette would love. “Don’t hate me, okay?”

Marinette didn’t’ have time to ask why before the music dimmed and the DJ’s voice blasted over the loudspeaker. “I’ve been told we have a birthday in Le Chat Noir tonight!”

She whirled around so quickly that curls blurred her vision. “Alya!” she shouted.

Alya did a little unsympathetic palms-up and took a sip of her drink.

“She turns twenty-one tonight,” the DJ continued. “She likes blonde hair and blue eyes. She designed her own dress and she’s sitting right here in the front row!” A buttery spotlight swept over the crowd and landed easily on Marinette, taking on a heart shape once it stopped on her. She was too embarrassed, too horrified, to even flee.

“And now, a man who needs no introduction, our very own—Chat Noir!”

The raging high-energy music faded completely and was replaced by the techno opening of “Put Your Hearts in the Air.” Marinette didn’t know if she should punch Alya or be overjoyed to hear her favorite song being blared to the soundtrack of the most embarrassing moment of her life. She didn’t realize she was gripping the dollar bills until her fingers went numb. Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn back to the stage as it filled with smoke that billowed as the curtains swept open.

Slinking from the recesses of backstage like an alley cat, Chat Noir emerged. 

The answering scream of delight from all the women was deafening.

For her part, Marinette’s heart definitely skipped a beat.

At the moment, he didn’t have much skin on display, but she knew it was coming. He wore skintight black leather that hugged his every curve and muscle, leaving nothing to the imagination including an impressive bulge. A shiny gold bell jingled at his throat, a black tail hung between his thighs, and his blonde head was decorated with pointed black cat ears. If there was a stage name better suited to him, Marinette couldn’t think of it. 

His lithe body twisted around and Marinette found herself staring into luminous acid-green eyes. Her heart rate doubled, but not because he was unbelievably handsome. In fact, she couldn’t see his face much more than the curve of his jaw and the tilt of his lips. He wore a mask. It covered half of his face, ending just at the tip of his nose and above his eyebrows. It added a lot to the allure of his costume, especially since it made his eyes more catlike than seemed humanly possible. 

“Please excuse me if I sound rude,” Eric Saade sang and Chat Noir mouthed along with the words.

Silky, sultry, Marinette couldn’t tear her eyes from the display as Chat Noir slid across the stage towards her. She expected him to stay on it, but he jumped right off and landed with a thump in front of her. The spotlight followed, glinting off his bell and bright eyes. 

She could feel the heat coming off his body and smell his cologne. Her heart stopped dead as he dropped to his knees in front of her and jerked her chair forward. She had no choice but to part her legs or risk jamming her knees into his chest. The hard lines of his ribs touched her thighs, searing like a brand. She was hyperaware of the fact that she was wearing a dress and that it was hitched almost indecently high. She clasped her hands to it, holding it down as dollar bills crinkled between her fingers. Chat Noir’s abdomen brushed her knuckles and he grinned.

“Not a typical nine to five dude,” Eric Saade continued and Chat Noir winked.

Chat Noir hopped nimbly onto his feet again, standing before her so that she was eye-level with his package.

“I put my pants on one leg at a time,” Chat Noir lip-synced. 

Marinette knew what was coming even before he hooked his thumbs into his pants and smoothly ripped them off. His skin was the pale, made almost white when offset by his black leather. Thankfully, he didn’t have on a g-string, not that his briefs kept much more hidden. 

“But they have chains, leather, and diamond lines,” Eric Saade sang with an edge.

Numb with shock, Marinette didn’t protest as Chat Noir bent low over her. His breath was sweet and warm on her face as he took her hand, guiding it to the zipper at his throat. His gloves were soft, tipped with small hard claws. Marinette gripped the zipper despite herself and Chat Noir smirked as he tugged her arm at the wrist. The jacket opened like the petals of a night-blooming flower. 

Marinette’s mind blurred at the sight.

“I feel a twitch without my melodies,” Chat Noir mouthed. He rolled his hips enticingly.

Marinette practically heard Alya’s voice inside her head, insisting that she slide one of those dollars into a place that would make every woman pray they were put back in circulation. She glanced down at the money in her lap, standing out pale and green against her red and black dress.

“I’ve got no switch to stop my fantasies,” Eric Saade put in silkily. 

As though to prove a point, Chat Noir twisted before her in such a way that allowed her to see every inch of his chiseled torso. The bell at his throat jingled, glimmering like a promise, and his black briefs hugged the swell of his ass. He pushed his gloved clawed hands through his golden hair, shaking his head slightly. Marinette’s mouth went dry. 

The chorus rose, slamming through Marinette like a drug. 

“So put your hearts in the air,” Eric Saade sang. 

“You gotta love being you,” Chat Noir lip-synced. He bent down again, hooking his fingers beneath her chin as though to entice a kiss though he never closed the space. His fingertips slid along her cheek and twisted a curl around his finger. “Do it like I do!”

He was so close, so warm, and he smelled wonderful. With a surge of confidence brought about by her favorite song and the burning spotlight, Marinette put her hand on his hip. His skin was warm and soft with such strong muscles beneath, like velvet covering steel. She felt the elastic of his briefs, tugged a little space between the material and his skin, and slipped she didn’t even know how many dollars in.

His smirk could have burned her.

All around them, Marinette could hear cheering. 

Beneath the sounds of music and yelling voices, Chat Noir leaned down and whispered, “Happy Birthday.” With that, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and then stepped away. He jumped back onto the stage, spinning his tail as he rolled his hips.

“Good job, girl,” Alya said happily and clapped Marinette on the shoulder. “I thought you were going to put those singles in your nest egg.”

Marinette sucked in a breath, suddenly aware of how little she had been breathing while Chat Noir was in her space. “Alya!” she hissed. “I can’t believe you did that to me!”

Alya grinned. “Just admit you liked it so we can enjoy the rest of our night,” she said curtly.

Marinette sighed heavily. “He is pretty cute,” she admitted to Alya. “But what’s with the mask?”

Alya shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “It’s probably just part of the show,” she said. 

Marinette folded the remaining bills Alya had given her into a neat pile, picked up her drink, and took a long swallow. The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, making her insides tingle and relax, but Marinette didn’t let herself think about how her cheek still seared where Chat Noir had kissed her. 

…

Midnight approached and Le Chat Noir became suitably busy. Women and young men were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, standing room only, and the bartenders were pouring and mixing drinks by the dozen. The music was turned up so loud that Marinette had to shout to be heard by Alya who was inches from her. The dancers now came out in groups of three and four, choreographed to the music that played. A rendition of ‘It’s Getting Hot in Here’ with gorgeous firemen had just ended.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Marinette shouted to Alya.

Alya gave her a thumbs up. “I’ll guard our drinks and your seat,” she shouted back. 

Marinette nodded, stood up, and smoothed her dress.

Alya swung her leg over Marinette’s seat. 

Now that she was standing, Marinette could feel the effects of the alcohol. She had always been a lightweight and now was no exception. Teetering in her high heels, Marinette picked her way through the crowd in front of the stage. The bathroom was clean, lit brightly with simple wall sconces, and blessedly quiet. Marinette leaned on the sink and took a deep breath, hoping to clear some of the alcohol from her system with willpower alone. 

When that didn’t work, she wiped off her smudged lipstick with a paper towel and splashed some cool water on her face. With a sigh, she ducked into a stall, relieved herself, and washed her hands. Reapplying lipstick so Alya wouldn’t whine, Marinette fixed her disarrayed curls and exited the bathroom. 

She walked right into the arms of a woman who was three times as drunk as she was. Taller and stronger than Marinette, the woman didn’t so much press her into the wall as she did just fall into Marinette and the wall happened to be there. Her large breasts, bursting from a black leather bustiere, smothered Marinette. Desperate to escape, Marinette heaved at the woman, but she couldn’t escape.

“You’re so pretty,” the woman slurred. “I love your dress.” Her nails were lacquered blood-red and she pawed Marinette’s face, snagging on curls and pulling painfully. 

Marinette heard a door open, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the woman’s choking cleavage. She couldn’t find a steady position on her towering heels and the alcohol in her system made everything spin. Dizzily, urgently, she stretched out her hand.

A gloved hand closed over her fingers and tugged. 

The woman stumbled, just as off balance as Marinette. 

Marinette tripped forward. It was only the firm grip on her hand that kept her from tumbling to her knees.

“Hey,” Chat Noir said sternly. “What do you think you’re doing in my club?”

The woman purred terribly. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just… I want someone to take home. How about you, kitty?”

“Not tonight,” Chat Noir said. Putting a hand to the bell at his throat, he spoke into it, “Hey, Kim. I’m by the women’s bathroom—no, I wasn’t—I need you to come over here and escort someone out. She’s been over-served by about a keg. Call her a cab or find out if she came with someone. Thanks.” 

What felt like seconds later, a bouncer materialized from seemingly nowhere. He was tall and strong with the front of his dark hair spiked and bleached. He grasped the woman by her upper arm, held her expertly away from him when she turned her fluttering eyes on him, and led her away. He spoke into an earpiece, gathering information.

“Are you alright?” Chat Noir asked Marinette. He looked her over and recognition lit in his green eyes. “Ah, Birthday Girl, that’s a hell of a way to celebrate.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Marinette protested. She jerked her hand out of his grip, stepped steadily on her heels, and straightened her dress. “She just grabbed me as soon as I came out of the bathroom.”

“My apologies,” Chat Noir said. “Let me at least walk you back to your friend.”

“I’m fine,” Marinette said. Now that she had been accosted, she felt significantly less drunk. Unfortunately, how she felt and how drunk she really was were apparently measured on vastly different scales. She turned sharply away from Chat Noir, stumbled, and nearly fell. 

Chat Noir chuckled, hooked his arm through hers like a gentleman, and led her through the crowd. Despite the way women had grabbed at and tipped him earlier, they parted like the Red Sea around him now and it was an easy matter to deposit her at Alya’s side again.

“I’m fine,” Marinette protested again as he sat her down in her seat.

“I’m sure you are,” he said smoothly and turned to Alya. Though his expression was hidden by his dark mask, his green eyes were piercing and astute. “How drunk are you?”

“I had one,” Alya said, “hours ago when we got here.”

Chat Noir nodded approvingly. “Enjoy the show,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Alya nodded.

Chat Noir straightened up and evaporated into the crowd, his tail swishing behind him. 

“What happened?” Alya asked Marinette urgently.

“I got molested,” Marinette mumbled. 

Alya’s eyes widened. “By who? By Chat Noir?” 

Marinette flailed her hand. “No, no, by some lady with enormous—” she gestured helplessly.

Alya restrained a snort. “Maybe it’s time to get you home, Marinette,” she said. “I think you’ve partied enough.”

“I used up all my dollars anyway,” Marinette said petulantly.

Alya took Marinette’s hands, pulled her to her feet, and linked arms with her. They eased through the crowd and out into the cool Paris night. Alya kicked open the passenger door of her broken car, poured Marinette inside, and drove her home. All in all, it was certainly a birthday to remember.

X X X

Oddly enough, none of my friends will go to a strip club with me so I watched some videos instead, like Buzzfeed’s ‘Try Guys Try Magic Mike Stripping’ and this one, if anyone else has lame friends: http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/video/dallas-male-strippers-bare-work-personal-lives-24206607

Marinette’s Dress: http://www.dressedupgirl.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Red-and-Black-Lace-Dress.jpg

Alya’s Look: http://demandware.edgesuite.net/aanj_prd/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-WS-MASTER/default/dwfe141e9e/5148234310_a1zm.jpg

Questions, comments, concerns?


	2. "You're Going to Kill Me, Aren't You?"

So, I planned for this to be a smutty one shot about sexy stripper Chat Noir, but it got way out of hand. (The smut is definitely still coming, you’ll just have to wait for it.)

X X X

Marinette didn’t know what made her climb on her bike and just start pedaling. All she knew was that she had had perhaps the worst day of her life so far. She just wanted to get out of her tiny apartment, out of her whirling head, out of her terrible internship and dead-end part-time job, out of her life.

She wanted a fantasy. 

She wanted to be in a fantasy. 

It was only eight o’clock when she pulled into the parking lot of Le Chat Noir, uncertain how she got there but not caring one way or the other. She parked her bike near the door under the watchful eye of the security guard at the door. He let her in without commenting on her wild hair or red-rimmed eyes or lack of lipstick. 

Marinette ignored the stage and went straight to the bar. Pulling out her ID, she ordered a margarita and stared glumly at the bartender without really seeing him as he prepared it. Once he slid the frozen radioactive drink in front of her, she took a huge sip and winced at the cold.

“Something on your mind?” the bartender asked.

“Lots of things,” Marinette growled. “None of them good, but I don’t want to ruin your day too.”

Accepted her statement at face value, he nodded and returned to stocking the alcohol behind the counter. 

Marinette could see the stage reflected in the mirror behind the bar and stared absently. She wasn’t really in the mood to watch sexy dancers or slide dollar bills into places she didn’t want to think about. All she wanted was to sit, drink, and not think. 

Thankfully, the music drowned out her bleak thoughts and the show was distracting enough to keep them away. She stirred her second margarita with the straw and plucked out the little paper umbrella. Twirling it between her fingers, her failure abruptly returned to her. The cornflower blue color, the floral pattern printed on the paper, and the wooden spear that felt like it was still jutting out of her heart. Oh yes, this umbrella summed up her awful day in one tiny simple object. 

“Stupid Chloé Bourgeois. Stupid Agreste Fashion,” she bit out. She sucked down the remainder of her margarita, crushed the umbrella in her hand, and slid the empty glass to the bartender. “One more,” she told him, “and then cut me off. I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

The bartender nodded and began mixing a third drink for her.

“Gabriel Agreste,” Marinette grumbled into her drink. “You’re such a bastard.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

For one heart-stopping moment, between the alcohol and her terrible day, Marinette thought she had managed to be unlucky enough to run into the object of her hatred in public. Her head snapped around so quickly that the world spun. 

It took her a moment to decide she wasn’t as drunk as she thought. There really was a cat-boy standing beside her. Chat Noir’s ears seemed to perk towards her. Bare-chested with his bell at his throat and skin-tight black jeans, he looked just as wonderful as he had the first time she met him. With his mask still firmly in place, she thought it was weird that she had seen so much of his body but still didn’t know exactly what he looked like.

“That is strange,” Chat Noir said with a chuckle.

Marinette’s eyes widened and she abruptly wished she had stopped at one margarita. She hated how her thoughts just seemed to fall out of her mouth when she was drunk.

Chat Noir sat down on the barstool beside her and waved his hand at the bartender. Without a word, the bartender set a tall glass of something pink with lots of cherries down in front of Chat Noir. “However interesting it is to hear what a lovely lady thinks of me,” he remarked, “I asked you why you think the number one fashion designer in Paris is a bastard.”

Marinette flushed, but it had nothing to do with the expanse of bare chest in front of her. “You weren’t supposed to overhear that,” she said quietly.

“I hear that a lot,” Chat Noir said. He reached up to scratch at his ears, catlike, and smirked.

Marinette tried not to smile back and failed. 

“There you go,” Chat Noir said lightly. 

Marinette let her breath out slowly and took a sip of her drink. “I’m an intern at Agreste Fashion,” she said softly.

Chat Noir nodded, picked a cherry out of his drink, and popped it in his mouth. He managed to look invested and unconcerned all at once. 

Marinette twisted the glass around and around. She hadn’t even told Alya about what happened yet—half because she knew her friend would run right over to punch whoever had hurt Marinette and half because she knew Alya would smother her in shared sorrow. Somehow, it seemed easier to tell a stranger than her best friend. “This month, he held a contest for the interns. From what we created, he was going to pick the person who had the most talent and bring them onto his staff.”

“That sounds nice of him,” Chat Noir remarked.

Marinette barked a laugh. “Yeah, it would have been.”

“I take it you didn’t win,” Chat Noir said.

Marinette tightened her grip on her glass. “Don’t make it sound like I’m just being petty,” she snapped at him. “I should have won. I really should have.”

Chat Noir didn’t react. He turned to face her and said, “Okay. Why should you have won?”

“The design that won,” Marinette whispered. “She stole it from me! She really did! But Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t even let me prove it. All because she’s Chloé Bourgeois and she’s the mayor’s daughter—” Marinette broke off, a ragged sob tearing from her lips. Now that she had said it aloud, the pain speared through her tenfold. She still couldn’t believe it. She had always heard that the fashion industry was crooked, that you had to have connections to get anywhere, but she hadn’t believed it. She hadn’t thought it could be that terrible. She thought her talent would serve her.

“You’re right,” Chat Noir said. He reached over the bar and came back with a handful of beverage napkins. “That sucks.”

Marinette accepted the napkins and blotted her face. 

“There’s really nothing you can do?” Chat Noir asked.

“I’m just an intern,” Marinette whispered. “I can’t get him to listen to me. Not against Chloé Bourgeois.”

Chat Noir put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “I have a show to do,” he said. “But you sit here and sober up. Sodas and coffees on the house, okay?” He made eye contact with the bartender and verified, “Max?”

The bartender nodded.

“Thanks,” Marinette sniffled. Not all the soda and coffee in the world could fill the void left by having her winning design stolen, but it was a nice gesture. The bartender slid the margarita away from her and put a mug of steaming coffee, cream, and sugar in front of her instead. Marinette wrapped her cold hands around it gratefully and then stared into it.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” The bartender, Max, asked her as he buffed the countertop. 

“It’s just… I have to work tomorrow…”

“It’s decaf,” Max said with an easy smile that was white against his chocolate skin. 

Marinette thought of the moon hanging in a dark sky, a crescent that still somehow illuminated the world. Smiling back at him, Marinette spread one of the beverage napkins across the bar, took a felt tip marker from her purse, and began to doodle. She stirred some cream and sugar into her mug and sipped slowly. The heat tingled down her throat and into her chest, warming her from the inside out. Combined with the margaritas, it wasn’t long before her eyelids drooped.

She rested her head on her hand, staring blankly at the flickering lights in the mirror, and fell asleep. 

…

When she woke, she didn’t immediately know why. It was too quiet, she realized. The music had stopped. Lifting her head, she blearily looked around and found that she was still sitting at the bar in Le Chat Noir. Someone had draped a jacket over her shoulders and removed her cup of coffee. A glass of water waited instead and she took a grateful sip. Ink stained her fingertips and she folded the napkin she had doodled on into her purse. 

“Well, well, Sleeping Beauty wakes,” Chat Noir said as he approached. He looked different without his tight pants and cat ears. Wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt, his golden hair tousled, he looked like someone she would pass on the street and blush at. Well, he would have if he had taken off his black mask. “How do you feel? Hung over?”

Marinette shook her head. She tugged the jacket from her shoulders and offered it to him. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me,” she said and smothered a yawn.

“No problem,” he said and accepted the jacket. Shrugging into it, he fished keys from the pocket.

“What time is it?” Marinette asked.

“Three in the morning,” Chat Noir told her.

Marinette nearly fell out of her seat. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “I have to be at my internship at eight!”

“You’re going back to Agreste Fashion after what the owner did to your design?” Chat Noir asked.

“I don’t have a choice,” Marinette said bitterly. “He owns the industry. If I leave after having an internship with him, it’ll be as good as putting a black label on myself. No one else will work with me—ever!”

Chat Noir caught her elbow as she dashed past him. “It’s late,” he said. “Are you going to run home? How did you get here?” 

Marinette fought back a burn in her cheeks, twisting her hands in her soft skirt. She was a starving artist, an intern, and part-time waitress. There was no shame in admitting that she didn’t have a car, but she still didn’t want to admit she had biked here. 

Chat Noir sighed and turned his attention to Max. “Who was on the door when she came in? That was like, eight, right?”

Max nodded. “I think Kim was,” he said.

“Kim!” Chat Noir shouted.

The club was empty save for staff and dancers, Marinette realized. She was the absolute last person here and they had let her stay. From a door marked ‘Employees Only’ in gold letters, Kim emerged. He was just as big, strong, and scary-looking as before. However, he smiled and it transformed his face. 

“What’s up, Chat?” Kim asked once he was close enough.

“You saw her come in, didn’t you?” Chat Noir asked and tipped his head at Marinette.

Kim nodded, his smile widening when Marinette made a desperate little gesture with her hands. “Yeah, why?”

“How’d she get here?” Chat Noir continued. “Walked? Cab? Zipline?”

Kim’s smile faltered a little. He looked Marinette over with a clinical eye, as though deciding if she was drunk or otherwise impaired. Marinette could tell they took such matters seriously and, while she thought that was very nice of them, she found it incredibly annoying at this very moment.

“Bicycle,” Kim said without preamble.

Marinette wondered if her glare bothered him at all. It certainly didn’t look like it.

“Bicycle,” Chat Noir repeated incredulously. He dragged a hand over his face with a sigh. “I’ll drive her home. Will you lock the place up?”

“No problem,” Kim answered as he accepted the ring of key from Chat Noir. 

“Just give the keys to Nino,” Chat Noir said. “He’ll give them to me tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Kim assured him.

Chat Noir grasped Marinette’s elbow and began tugging her towards the front door.

She followed obediently for a few seconds before it sunk into her brain that she was about to get into a car with a stranger who worked at a strip club, wore a mask, and probably was a psychotic killer. She wrenched herself away and staggered backwards. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Chat Noir burst out laughing. “I have been accused of many things, but that is not one of them.”

“How many things have you been accused of?” Marinette asked with narrowed eyes.

Chat Noir chuckled. “Why don’t you call someone and tell them when to expect you? That way, if I don’t bring you home fast enough, they can call the police.”

Marinette took her phone out of her purse and stared at it. “I can’t call anyone,” she protested. “It’s three AM! Everyone I know is asleep.”

With a heavy sigh, Chat Noir turned to the small assembly of staff and coworkers that were staring at him bemusedly. He looped his arm over Marinette’s shoulders and pointed to a camera winking at them from over the bar. “This is a strip club so we have good security here. You’re on tape with me right now. If I kidnap you, the police will know exactly where to look, okay?”

Being that Marinette didn’t want to admit no one knew she was here and seal the deal for this masked man she hardly knew, she nodded.

“Great,” Chat Noir said. “I have to work in the morning too so let’s get this show on the road already.”

Marinette let him tow her out the door into the crisp night. She shivered, wishing she had worn a jacket or at least a scarf. She grasped the handlebars of her bike and pushed it through the parking lot. Chat Noir drove a sleek black Mercedes that astounded her when he carelessly popped the trunk and lifted her dirty bike into it. 

“Ah, your car!” she protested.

“What about it?”

She bit back admitting it was gorgeous and instead said, “It’ll get dirty.”

“It can be cleaned,” he said. “Just get in already.”

Marinette opened the passenger side door and slipped into the plush leather seat. It absorbed her, melting away the stiffness in her back from slumping at the bar all night. She wished all her problems would dissolve so easily.

“Click it or ticket,” Chat Noir said as he fastened his seatbelt. 

Marinette snapped her belt on and shifted nervously as Chat Noir put his car in gear.

“So, where do you live?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Rue Buginette,” she said. “You can drop me on the corner at the café.”

“Don’t want to give me your address, huh?” he asked. “Do I really seem like a murderer?”

Marinette stared hard at him. “Maybe you wouldn’t seem so suspicious if you weren’t wearing that mask,” she said sharply.

Chat Noir laughed again and the sound went straight to Marinette’s toes like a physical touch. “If you knew why I was wearing it, you’d understand.”

“Are you disfigured?” Marinette asked before she could stop herself and hastily added, “Like the Phantom of the Opera?” 

Chat Noir glanced at her, his green eyes sparkling in the amber glow of the streetlamps. “No,” he said evenly. 

Silence stretched between them. Marinette wished the comfortable seat would swallow her up. She couldn’t believe she had asked him if he was disfigured. If he hadn’t been planning on killing her before, he certainly was now. She bit her thumbnail nervously and tried to breathe slow enough to prevent herself from panicking.

“Freedom,” Chat Noir said finally. “I need the mask for freedom.”

Marinette didn’t say what she was thinking, that he needed the mask to hide from the cops, and instead nodded as though she comprehended his reasons.

Chat Noir flipped on his turn signal and pulled up in front of the café on Rue Buginette. “Here you are,” he said politely, “alive and in one piece.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said hastily.

“Do you need help to get your bike out of the trunk?”

“I’ve got it,” she insisted. She jumped out of his car and thanked him again.

The trunk was already popped open. Marinette pulled her bike out, closed it, and pedaled quickly down the street. Chat Noir didn’t follow her, no bogeymen jumped out of the alley to kidnap her, and she made it home safely. Marinette showered, changed into her pajamas, and tried to get a few more hours of sleep before she returned to hell on earth.

…

The next morning, Marinette shuffled into Agreste Fashion, seriously regretting the choices she had made with her life. She was exhausted from staying out so late and depressed by Chloé Bourgeois’s ability to ruin everything Marinette had worked so hard on. She made her way to the second floor, punched in, and began to organize the large storage room where fabric and supplies were kept. She folded things that the designers had left out, organized patterns, and picked up a handful of scattered pins. 

She had just begun to sort through a shipment of buttons when her name was called over the intercom, asking her to come to the fifth floor. Groaning, Marinette swept all the buttons back into the tub and secured the lid. The last thing she wanted to do was come back and find buttons all over the room she had just spent two hours cleaning. She boarded the elevator and leaned against the wall as it climbed to the fifth floor. With a soft chime, the doors slid open and Marinette stepped out.

The intercom hadn’t specified where she was supposed to go so she picked what seemed like a logical direction and struck off. Massive posters hung on the walls here. Beautiful models in stunning makeup, amazing clothes, and elaborate poses. Marinette didn’t allow herself time to admire each one and marched swiftly down the hallway. Hopefully, someone would notice her wandering and let her know who had paged her.

“Marinette?” 

“That’s me!” 

Marinette turned sharply into the open suite and found herself in the middle of a photo shoot. Stunned, all she could do was stare at the equipment and people filling the room. Natural lighting streamed through the open window, but there were thick curtains that could be closed at any moment. Sophisticated white faux-pillars overwhelmed the room, making it look like a chateau from a dream. There were rose petals on the floor, props spread across a table, and artists everywhere.

In the middle of the photo shoot stood the most beautiful man Marinette had ever laid eyes on. He stood with his back to the camera, one arm stretched out to hold the waist of the young woman posing with her leg lifted against his hip. He had pale golden hair, perfect porcelain skin, and shining emerald eyes. The young woman’s hair was ink, offsetting her golden sun-kissed skin and deep dark eyes. Together, they looked somehow like a fairytale and yet like something anyone could achieve. They looked real.

But the sight of them wasn’t what stole all the breath from Marinette’s lungs. 

They were wearing her designs—the designs that Chloé Bourgeois had stolen and used to cement victory for herself. When Marinette had envisioned the ensemble, she hadn’t quite thought of it as something to be paired together but as something to complement. In this industry, that was a bold choice.

For the woman, Marinette thought peacock, but she didn’t take the traditional route or colors for that matter. The draped bodice was a rich cornflower blue with a row of rose buttons that trailed between the model’s humble breasts. Just below, the sleek blue flared out like a comfortable sundress, but Marinette had dressed it up with elegant gold embroidery that was reminiscent of a royal seal while keeping it simple enough to be pretty rather than garish. At the hem, she had added a final layer of sheer white fabric with scalloped edges and stitched with rose thread to complement the buttons and center of the embroidery. To add a final flare to the dress, Marinette had stitched red-orange roses in a ring of golden leaves. She had worked on the dress for more than a month.

As a result, she hadn’t had as much time for the male design, but she thought the simplicity complemented the dense patterns on the dress. She instead focused on the sleek suit lines, drawing attention to a man’s broad shoulders with golden embroidery. She tried to keep her designs elegant enough to be worn to something as elaborate as a ball yet simple enough to be worn daily without incurring too many strange looks. All in all, the two designs were some of her best and she had been crushed when Chloé managed to steal them with bribery and trickery. To see them in the midst of a stunning photo shoot was almost more than she could bear. 

“You’re Marinette?” the photographer asked. “The intern?”

She could only nod.

“Hold this,” he said and handed her a lens that he wasn’t using.

“Chloé,” he called across the set. “Come here.”

Marinette tightened her grip on the lens.

Chloé sauntered over, looking for all the world like the cat that had eaten the canary. “Yes?” 

“You designed this so tell me what light would look best with the material,” the photographer said. 

“It’s polyester,” Chloé said and flipped her hair over her shoulder, “and embroidered with wool. Natural light always complements it the best. That’s all I used while I was making it.” 

The photographer thrummed in his chest. “Open the curtains,” he said and held out his hand for the lens Marinette held. He exchanged lenses on his camera and fiddled with the focus while Chloé pulled open the curtains. Buttery sunlight streamed in, falling on the rich blues and golds and bringing the design to life. 

Marinette hoped against hope that Chloé’s lies would be brought to light the same way. Marinette hadn’t made them with cheap polyester, but a flexible and lightweight knit of cotton that set her back on her cable bill. Any self-respecting designer used cotton floss for embroidery and Marinette favored it over the sheen of silks.

Abruptly, the female model jolted away from the young man. “Did you say this was embroidered with wool?”

Chloé’s face went white. “Yes,” she said nervously. 

The young woman sucked in air. “I’m allergic to wool!”

The young man’s eyes widened. Quickly, he helped the model hold the embroidered skirt away from her legs as staff flocked to unzip the dress. She stepped out of it gratefully and slid into an offered robe, breathing hard as she knotted the belt. 

Marinette’s eyes watered and her throat closed at the sight of her treasured dress on the floor. 

However, it didn’t stay there long. 

The male model picked it up, smoothed the skirt across his hand, and examined the embroidery closely. “This isn’t made of wool,” he said and looked over at Chloé. “How could you not know that? Didn’t you make this?”

Chloé sputtered helplessly.

“My father said that his most talented intern designed these.” He gestured to the suit and dress. “If you made them, why don’t you know what they’re made of?” he asked with his voice somewhere between accusation and incredulousness. 

“I-I-I,” Chloé whispered.

“What’s this embroidered with?” he asked outright.

“It’s cotton floss,” Marinette said without thinking. 

Those emerald-green eyes spun to her like a spotlight. “Cotton floss,” he repeated. “And why do you know that?”

Desperately, Chloé said, “She helped me—”

“I made it,” Marinette said quickly. “Not Chloé. She switched our designs on the day of the competition.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” the photographer asked. “These are beautiful!”

“I never got the chance,” Marinette said so as not to besmirch the Agreste name. 

“Cheat!” the photographer shouted. “How dare you!”

Tears welled in Chloé’s eyes as she looked powerlessly at Marinette. Pity swelled in Marinette’s heart. Chloé and she had the same dream, but Chloé kept trying to reach it in all the wrong ways. She couldn’t bribe and cheat her way to the top, using her father’s position to boost herself. Marinette didn’t offer Chloé an excuse, even though she sort of wanted to. Chloé had made this mess and now she had to deal with it. Sobbing, Chloé ran from the studio. 

“It’s not wool?” the female model asked, looking sheepish and a little irritated. 

“Apparently not,” the young man said and held the dress as carefully as though it had been hurt. “Why don’t you get dressed again and we can resume the shoot.”

She nodded, accepted the dress gingerly, and stepped behind a privacy screen to change.

The young man approached Marinette and held out his hand. “I’m Adrien. What did you say your name was?”

“Marinette,” she answered with a nervous smile. 

“Well, Marinette,” he said. “This suit is exquisite. I look forward to wearing more of your designs in the future.”

Marinette blushed with the praise. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

The female model emerged from behind the screen, smoothing her silky black tresses over her shoulders. “This dress makes me feel like an escaping princess,” she said. “It’s beautiful. I’d love to have one in my closet at home.” She winked. “I hope it starts being produced soon.”

Marinette thought she might swoon.

The photographer must have sensed that because he snapped his fingers and demanded the lens that Marinette was still holding. “Chop chop, people,” he called. “We don’t have all day.”

All at once, the photo shoot resumed. Marinette found herself not quite front-and-center, but it was still everything she had imagined. She was giddy as the photographer asked questions about the dress and the embroidery, the lighting and the material, and poses that Marinette could recommend to best display the lines of her designs. 

“This is your debut,” the photographer said, his shutter clicking away like a tiny round of applause. “Enjoy it, ma chérie!”

X X X

Marinette’s design for the woman: http://assets0.mirraw.com/images/905562/BND-H018_zoom.jpg?1438346754

Marinette’s design for the man: http://i00.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v0/32306704414_1/2015-New-Gold-Embroidered-Mens-Vintage-Slim-Blazer-Men-Luxury-Royal-Dress-Suits-Terno-Masculino-Blue.jpg_640x640.jpg

Man, the feedback on this story has been epic! I’m going to try to update every other day, but I do work two jobs so if something explodes, that might not happen.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. "I Know How You Can Repay Me."

Ugh, I had a migraine from hell yesterday. Thank goodness I feel better today!

X X X

Marinette told Alya what had happened all at once, like an action movie stuck on fast forward with lots of exaggerated hand waving and facial expressions. She conveniently left out her conversational blunders with Chat Noir as he tried to drive her home. She spoke so quickly that Alya had to ask questions three and four times, especially when Marinette explained that Chloé had stolen her designs.

“That bitch!” Alya shouted.

Marinette pulled her back into the booth and shot an apologetic glance at her coworker. “Alya, stop it,” she chastised. “Chloé got what was coming to her.”

“Adrien,” Alya repeated, rolling the name on her lips. She gasped and snapped her fingers. “You don’t think that model could have been Adrien Agreste, do you?”

“Adrien Agreste?” Marinette asked.

“Gabriel Agreste’s son,” Alya supplied with a roll of her eyes. She slid open her phone, tapped into a search, and scrolled through several articles. “Adrien Agreste is the primary model for Agreste Fashion. I can’t believe you didn’t know that, girl. You work there!”

“I work in the belly of the beast,” Marinette grumbled. “I haven’t had time to look at its face yet.”

Alya snorted. “Don’t you watch TV?”

“Not recently,” Marinette said. “I fell behind on my cable when I paid for the material for my—winning!—design.”

Alya swatted at her. “We absolutely have to go out and celebrate.”

“I’d love to, but I’m so broke,” Marinette said. 

“Ah, here,” Alya said and thrust her phone at Marinette. “This is Adrien. Was he the model?”

Marinette stared at the image in shock. Sure enough, those golden waves of hair and emerald eyes were a giveaway. His smile was a little harder in the image, but there could be no mistaking him. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “It was. That was Adrien Agreste!”

Alya laughed aloud. “You’re in, girl,” she cheered. “Adrien Agreste himself said he liked your design and wanted to wear more of them. You’re as good as signed!”

“I am not,” Marinette protested. She struggled against a blush of excitement. “I’m going to have to work so much harder now.”

“You can do it,” Alya encouraged. “We both know you have more talent in one pinky that half the designers turning things out these days. Have you seen most of the billboards around town? Yuhck!”

Marinette couldn’t deny that half the fashion growing in popularity was just hideous, but she was loathe to turn her nose up at anyone’s design. She knew how much it hurt to hear that her ideas weren’t good enough and she didn’t want to give that feeling to anyone else.

“Alya, be nice,” Marinette said softly.

Alya sobered. “Sorry, Marinette,” she said. “So, how about we go out for at least a drink to celebrate your success?”

“Maybe,” Marinette relented with a smile. She slid out of the booth and straightened her apron. “And if I want to keep this job, you’d better either order something or get out.”

Laughing, Alya stuffed her phone into her messenger bag and headed out into the buttery afternoon. Marinette busied herself with refilling the sugar bowls on each table, wiping the salt- and peppershakers, and pushing in all the chairs. No amount of lame waitressing could put a damper on her spirits though. She was walking on air.

…

The third time Marinette found herself at Le Chat Noir, it was a Saturday night and she had never seen it so busy. She practically lost herself in the crowd, nudging between elbows as she made her way towards the bar where Alya promised to meet her. Marinette had had a good week at the café, paid off her cable, and had a little bit of money to spend. She wasn’t entirely sure how Alya convinced her to go to Le Chat Noir again, especially to celebrate, but she wasn’t particularly complaining. 

In fact, she almost hoped she’d run into Chat Noir so she could tell him that everything had worked out after all. Though she wasn’t really sure why she had that urge, she figured there was no harm in giving in to it. Chat Noir had helped her out after all, keeping an eye on her while she drank too much and napped at his bar and then driving her home afterwards—all without kidnapping and murdering her. She probably owed him an apology along with her good news.

“Marinette!” Alya shouted. “Over here!”

Marinette wriggled through the crowd and finally came to stand beside Alya. “This place is packed tonight,” Marinette panted. “Is it some kind of holiday?”

Alya regarded her. “Definitely,” she said. “It’s National Nipple Day. Didn’t you read my article about it?”

Marinette’s eyes widened drastically. “What? Are you serious?”

Alya punched her gently in the shoulder. “No,” she said. “It’s Saturday night. No one has to work tomorrow.”

“I do,” Marinette said brightly. “I have to work some fall designs. I want to be able to show them to anyone who asks me.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “You can take one day off, spoil sport!”

Max wasn’t the only bartender tonight and he peeled himself away to slide down the bar. “Hey Princess,” he said brightly as he slapped down three shot glasses in front of them.

“Princess?” Marinette and Alya repeated in incredulous unison.

Max grinned, his teeth flashing pink as a light played over the mirror. He poured tequila into the shots with a flourish, spun the bottle, and put it away. He picked up one glass and mimed a little ‘Cheers’ motion at them.

“What’s this for?” Marinette asked even as Alya picked up the shot.

“Comfort or celebration,” Max said shortly. 

“Comfort?” Marinette repeated. “Celebration?”

Max rolled his shoulders. “You were down in the dumps last time you were here,” he explained. “If things haven’t changed, comfort. If they have, celebration.”

“My man,” Alya said appreciatively. 

“Thank you,” Marinette said. She snapped open her purse for some money. 

Max clicked his tongue. “On the house,” he said. “Cheers!”

Marinette and Alya knocked back the shots together. Marinette let out a gasp of delight, feeling a rush of pleasant warmth slide down to her belly, and slapped her glass back down on the bar with a crack. Alya sputtered. She drank a lot more whiskey and vodka than tequila.

Max grinned at them both, his sparkling eyes saying, ‘Amateurs.’

“So, are we celebrating karma or mourning the injustice of the world?” Chat Noir asked. He materialized behind Marinette so suddenly that she jumped. She was grateful she was wearing her low-heeled knee boots rather than heels or she would have fallen. 

“Celebrating,” Marinette told him with a sunny smile. 

He looked just as good as always in his sleek leather pants, a sleeveless vest, and trademark cat effects. His golden bell jingled at his throat. Despite herself, Marinette found her eyes searching for the tiny intercom that hid inside it and allowed him to talk to the staff at the drop of a hat.

Chat Noir grinned and leaned one hand on the bar. “Max, another round,” he said. 

Max whooped, grabbed another shot glass for Chat Noir, and poured again. 

Alya managed this shot with more grace, hardly even coughing as she slammed down her glass. Marinette’s throat warmed as she swallowed, tingling all the way to her toes. Max and Chat Noir, however, drank as though their glasses were full of water.

“Well,” Chat Noir said as Max cleaned up the glasses. “Follow me, ladies, and I’ll show you how we celebrate at Le Chat Noir.” 

He grasped Marinette’s hand and she jolted when she realized he wasn’t wearing gloves. His skin was warm and soft, but surprisingly rough across his palms. His nails were short and looked almost manicured. She was so captivated that she didn’t realize she was on stage until she found herself sitting back to back with Alya.

“Nino,” Chat Noir shouted to the DJ. “Make it a good one.”

“You’ve got it, dude,” Nino shouted. He rummaged for a second, grinned maniacally, and then put something on his table.

The opening techno-skip of “K-k-k-kawaii” for Avril Lavigne’s ‘Hello Kitty’ blasted through the speakers.

Chat Noir turned towards Nino, his hands lifted over his head incredulously. “Really?” he shouted at Nino over the music.

Nino just winked, put one hand down on the mixing board, and skipped the music ahead to “Come, come, kitty, kitty.”

With a shake of his golden head, Chat Noir hooked his boot under the chair right between Marinette’s thighs. She squeaked as he pulled her forward, hands frozen in the air, as he slipped down to straddle her waist. He didn’t quite touch her, resting his hands on the back of her chair so that his wrists touched her shoulders. His body hovered above hers, gyrating to the happy beat of the music.

“You’re so pretty, pretty,” Avril Lavigne purred. 

Keeping his feet planted on the floor, he tilted Marinette’s chair so that she slid into his thigh. Startled, she grabbed at him to keep herself from falling. One hand landed hard on his hip and the other clutched at his shoulder, tangling at the edge of his sleeveless vest. His bare skin beneath her fingers crackled like fireworks and his heat was a brand. 

It flashed her back to the first night she had been here with Alya. Chat Noir had on significantly less that night, but this somehow felt even more intimate. Everyone was looking up at them, probably wishing they were Marinette. This wasn’t about peer pressure urging her to slide dollars into his briefs. This was about the show, the fantasy.

Somehow, that thought made everything else fall away. Marinette heard the music in Chat Noir’s body as well as the speakers. He moved with it and he let it move him. Marinette slid her hand across his collarbone, tuck beneath the bell at his throat, and settle on the zipper of his vest. His green eyes flicked to her, taking in her expression, and then he smirked. He tossed his head in a fountain of golden curls, baring his neck in a way that dared her.

“Don’t go kitty, kitty,” Avril Lavigne rocked.

Marinette didn’t know what was happening to Alya behind her. She could hear the audience cheering, but she didn’t pay attention. 

Her attention was focused on Chat Noir, on the cool firmness of his zipper, of his bell jingling against her knuckles. She tugged slowly and the halves of the vest parted beneath her hands like curtains. She hadn’t paid more than a cursory glance to his abdomen, but now her eyes were drawn down the long lean lines of him. He was more slender than she had realized with sharply-cut hips and very fine definition on all his muscles. He was as svelte and lithe as an alley cat.

Without quite meaning to, she ran her finger from his throat, between his pectorals, and to his belly button. He shuddered beneath her touch, a tremulous thing that she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been so close to him. He threw his head back and his arms followed. He leaned almost dangerously, his weight just resting on her knees, and let the vest slide off his shoulders. Then, he whipped back up over her. His breath wisped across her face, sweet and touched with tequila.

“Stay with me,” Avril Lavigne sang. Her voice skipped with the techo beat, stretching the syllables.

Chat Noir rested his hands on Marinette’s shoulders now, pressing her down into her chair and she hadn’t realized that she was rising up to meet him. He smirked when she flushed and flailed her hand, uncertain of where to place it now that she had drawn attention to her enjoyment. 

He clasped her wrist and pressed it to his face, nuzzling into it as the lyrics purred, ‘Kitty, kitty.’ His mask was surprisingly firm beneath her fingers. It felt like something professionally made, not a silky cheap mask someone would wear on Halloween or in the bedroom. 

She thought of what he had said when he drove her home. ‘Freedom. I need the mask for freedom.’

Marinette’s other hand still rested on his hip, fingers curling against the top of his belt. She became aware of his tail swaying with his hips, slapping idly against the insides of her calves. She wanted to grab it and pull, but she couldn’t reach and she didn’t quite dare. Chat Noir bent low against her. She felt like she was framing him, one hand against his face, the other on his hip. His arms and legs caged her in like the walls of a palace. 

“You’re so silly, silly,” Avril Lavigne cheered. Then, the music snapped sharply back to a snippy rendition of “K-k-k-kawaii.”

Jolted by the change in tone, Chat Noir smirked down at Marinette. His hand brushed her cheek as he pulled away and back-flipped gracefully. He landed in a crouch, hooked his fingers in his pants, and ripped them off. Tonight, he was all g-string.

Marinette’s confidence deserted her. 

Her cheeks flamed as almost everything—but so close to everything that she almost didn’t know what was worse—was exposed. She tore her eyes away from his crotch before she could think about how big it was and focused in on his face. Beneath his black mask, his green eyes stood out like jewels. 

He beckoned to her like a dance partner, one hand outstretched. 

Marinette shook her head and remained firmly in her chair.

Chat Noir shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders sliding beneath his honeyed skin. Stretching his hand above his head, he pointed at Nino and the music changed into a burst of Taylor Swift’s ‘Bad Blood.’ He paced to the edge of the stage, hips swaying with his tail, and spread himself out languidly. When Marinette looked again, as the song ended, his g-string was more dollar than fabric. 

Alya and Marinette accepted help down from the stage and picked their way through the crowd. They sat down at the bar. Marinette was pleased to find that her unruffled friend was actually flushed beet-red and her hair was mussed as if she had just come out of a broom closet with someone.

“I thought you were going to sample the other side of the buffet,” Marinette said cheekily.

Alya patted her cheeks. “It’s the tequila,” she said. 

“Is it now?” Marinette teased.

“Okay,” Alya relented. “Maybe coming to this place is making me think about switching back to the home team. Hell, that Chat Noir is pretty sexy for a boring blue-eyed blonde-haired white boy.”

“He has green eyes,” Marinette corrected without thinking.

Alya smirked as though she had won. “Green eyes? Really? Are you diverging from your tried-and-true type?”

Marinette snorted. “Somehow, I don’t think Chat Noir is available.”

“But if he was?” Alya prodded.

Marinette waved at Max and ordered two strawberry daiquiris to take the edge off the tequila. 

“Mm, rum, delicious,” Alya said appreciatively as she took a sip. Marinette almost thought she was off the hook until Alya’s piercing eyes struck into Marinette like a dart on a bull’s-eye. “Now, back to the matter at hand… Chat Noir.”

Marinette sighed, picked the strawberry off the lip of her drink, and bit into it. “I don’t know, Alya,” she said. “I mean, isn’t there some kind of unspoken rule about not dating a man in a mask.”

“Not since 50 Shades of Grey came out,” Alya said. 

Marinette almost choked on her daiquiri. “Did you seriously just recommend I get into a relationship like that? You’re my best friend! You’re supposed to protect me from men like Christian Grey.”

Alya stared accusingly into her glass. “It’s the tequila. I shouldn’t have had that shot,” she said, “or the second one.” 

Marinette chuckled and gratefully let the subject of Chat Noir drop.

…

Alya was wasted on martinis, though she continued to blame everything on the two shots of tequila. Marinette had her attention focused entirely on her friend, encouraging her to drink some coffee and eat some pretzels to take the edge off. As such, she didn’t see Chloé until it was too late.

“Bitch!” Chloé shouted. “You sold me out!”

Since it was after midnight, the yelling of people who had been over-served had increased. Every few minutes, Kim and the other bouncers were tossing people out and calling them a cab. At first, Marinette didn’t even pay attention to the screaming. 

Then, sharp manicured nails lashed into Marinette’s hair and jerked her backwards off the barstool. She landed hard, pain spearing up her tailbone and her elbow. Her eyes watered as Chloé ripped on her hair, dragging her backwards. Marinette desperately latched on to Chloé’s wrist to take the pressure off. 

The fight lasted an instant before Kim was on top of them. Max grabbed Alya’s shirt, preventing her from leaping into the fray. Kim dug his thumb into the pressure point on Chloé’s wrist and her fingers went numb. Marinette landed on the floor again, hands scrabbling as she staggered to her feet. Her eyes and scalp stung. 

A warm hand closed around her bicep and steadied her. She felt bare skin and a rough palm, but she knew it was Chat Noir by the jingle of the bell at his throat. “Is that any way to behave? Just what do you think you are doing in my club, Chloé?”

Chloé turned towards Chat Noir and Marinette, sobbing raggedly. Her hair was a mess, her makeup streaked down her face, and her nose was bright red. She smelled like a brewery. Frantically, she fell towards Chat Noir, but Kim held her back by her shoulders. Her designer blouse was ruined, ripped and strained with liquor. “It’s not fair,” she wailed. “It’s not fair. I won!”

Neither Chat Noir nor Marinette graced her with a response.

Chloé’s sobs turned to loud violent hiccups.

Marinette heard her heave, but she had nowhere to run. She was caged on all sides by the crowd with Chloé in front of her and Chat Noir pressed against her back. She braced herself for impending vomit, mourning her favorite pleated skirt and comfortable boots.

“Max,” Chat Noir said sharply.

A trashcan passed quickly over the bar. It was large, almost industrial in its size, and filled with empty bottles, but it did the trick. Chloé emptied the contents of her stomach horrifically, hair hanging in her face and sobs wracking her slender form. Chat Noir curved his shoulder around Marinette, turning her away from the sight almost protectively, but Marinette tugged free. She grasped Chloé’s wild blonde hair and held it away from her face. 

Rubbing the crying girl’s back gently, Marinette glanced over at Max. “Can I have some ginger ale and napkins?”

Max passed them to Chat Noir. He held the glass and wad of napkins like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Chloé finished heaving and straightened up.

Marinette handed her the napkins so she could wipe her face and blow her nose. Then, she handed Chloé the glass of ginger ale and watched her tremble as she drank. Marinette took back the glass before she could drop it. Chloé curled in on herself, whimpering and shaking. 

“Do you want to press charges?” Kim asked Marinette.

Marinette lifted a hand to her hair, feeling a twinge of pain in her scalp, but shook her head. “Chloé must be going through a lot right now and I can understand. After she stole my design, I wanted to get drunk and rip her hair out too. Luckily, I came here and that didn’t happen.” Marinette flashed a smile at Chat Noir. “Just send her home to her father, please.”

Kim nodded, took a garbage bag just in case and a wad of napkins, and led Chloé outside. 

Alya fell on Marinette, slurring, “Marinette, you’re such a good person.”

“Thank you, Alya,” Marinette said with an amused smile. “Let’s get you home, too.”

“Are you good to drive?” Chat Noir asked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call a cab,” she told him.

He shook his head. “I’ll drive you.”

“That’s okay,” Marinette protested.

“I insist,” Chat Noir said sternly. “And I won’t take no for an answer.” Chat Noir swept on a hooded jacket to cover his bare chest. He had put on pants over his g-string at some point, but Marinette wondered what had become of all the dollar bills. He took off his bell and handed it to Max. “Keep an eye on everyone while I’m gone. I won’t be long.”

“Can do,” Max said.

Chat Noir took hold of Alya on the other side of Marinette and ushered them out the door. The night was cool and crisp. It did wonders to sober Marinette, but it didn’t do anything for Alya. She giggled as she found Chat Noir’s tail and pulled on it. 

“Hey now,” Chat Noir said. “Not on a first date.” He unlocked his car with a beep. Together, he and Marinette eased Alya into the plush backseat and he closed the door before Alya could grab at him again. “Man, she wasn’t that grabby in the club.”

“It’s the tequila,” Alya slurred. 

Marinette climbed into the passenger seat and put on her seatbelt.

“So, should I drop you at the café on Rue Buginette again or are you ready to give me your address?”

Marinette wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the lingering pain from her fight with Chloé, but she nodded. “I live in the apartment building on Rue Buginette,” she said softly. “It’s classic architecture and I fell in love with it. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Chat Noir nodded. 

They drove in companionable silence that was broken only by Alya snoring in the back. He slid into the parking lot and chose a space near the door. Marinette climbed out, fished her keys from her purse, and toted Alya from the backseat. Chat Noir took her other arm again and they led Alya to the door. Marinette unlocked it and held it open for Chat Noir. 

“Elevator?” Chat Noir asked.

Marinette shook her head. “Stairs.”

Chat Noir groaned. 

“You don’t have to come,” Marinette said. She hitched Alya’s arm over her shoulder securely and headed for the wide staircase. 

Chat Noir followed. “What kind of knight would I be if I left the fair princess at the castle gate?”

Marinette was just drunk enough to laugh at him.

Chat Noir took Alya’s arm and climbed the stairs with Marinette. “What floor do you live on?”

“The third,” she said as they turned the first level. 

The climb went briskly, even with Alya giggling between them. Chat Noir held her up while Marinette unlocked her front door and swung it open. He eased Alya inside and deposited her on the couch. She dissolved into the cushions, boneless and exhausted.

Marinette picked up a patchwork quilt made from all her leftover fabric swatches throughout the years and tucked it around Alya. “Thanks for seeing us home,” she said. “You’ve helped me twice now when I needed it.”

“I know how you can repay me,” he said.

Marinette regarded him. Distrust filled her beautiful blue eyes as she wondered what this man in a mask could possibly ask of her. 

Chat Noir didn’t want to know what she was imagining he wanted and he didn’t want her to have more time to think of suspicious things. Quickly, he said, “Your name.”

“Huh?” 

He smiled. “Tell me your name.”

“Marinette,” she said slowly, confused. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Chat Noir took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marinette.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t know how she had seen him nearly-naked so many times and yet such a subtle moment like this could make her flush even harder. 

“Until next time,” he said softly. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

Chat Noir closed her front door behind himself and it wasn’t until Marinette had finished settling Alya down that she realized he left without ever telling her his name in return. Not only didn’t she know his name, but she had never seen his face beneath the mask either. 

And yet, the press of his lips to the back of her hand lingered even after she had showered, put out some aspirin and water for Alya, and climbed into bed.

X X X

Man, I wrote out this chapter and saved it to a different folder than I usually do so it looked like it disappeared. It was so scary!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	4. "You've Already Taken Me Home Twice."

I still cannot believe the outrageous support for this story. Who would ever have thought my Stripper AU would take off like a rocket?

X X X

Now that Marinette was a step above intern and actually drawing a paycheck, she got to work with one of Gabriel Agreste’s middle fashion designers. Shah Maxi was a whirlwind. She was fanatical about punctuality, couldn’t function without an image of the Eiffel Tower somewhere nearby, and her short hair was a different color every day. Nevertheless, she was great to work with. She encouraged Marinette’s input and even cleared a corner of her desk for Marinette to work on. She began every Monday by asking Marinette about her weekend, including what she wore and what she ate.

The Monday after her fight with Chloé, Shah Maxi’s hair was fire engine red, her earrings were the Eiffel Tower, and she came in early with a big box of donuts. “Good morning, Marinette! Have a donut, put some meat on your bones, you look like a model.”

Marinette smiled. She appreciated that Shah Maxi thought models were too thin and that her clothing should be accessible to everyone. “Good morning. Do you want me to get you some coffee?”

“Pah,” Shah Maxi dismissed with a wave of her hand. She hopped into her desk chair, spun, and then pulled it forward. “Tell me about your weekend, Marinette.”

“I went to Le Chat Noir,” Marinette explained.

“Oooh,” Shah Maxi purred. “What did you wear?”

“A pleated skirt, a blouse, and my favorite denim jacket.”

Shah Maxi wiggled a little bit in her seat. “Kind of a sexy school girl look, huh? What about shoes?”

Marinette bit her lower lip in embarrassment. “My black boots.”

Shah Maxi raised an eyebrow. “Heeled?”

Marinette shook her head. “They look a little like combat boots, but… cuter.”

Shah Maxi laughed. “Oh, Marinette, you’re adorable!”

Marinette stared at the orders she was going over, uncertain whether to accept the praise or shrink with mortification. 

Shah Maxi pulled her chair closer so that their knees touched. “Listen, Marinette, I like your style,” she said as though sharing a conspiracy. “Next month, Big Boss Gabriel is holding the Fall Fashion Show.” She rummaged through her accordion folder and pulled out a handful of patterns. “I am in charge of the Fall Casual. I want you to pick one of my patterns and design the rest.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “The rest?”

Shah Maxi nodded. “The hat, the coat, the shoes, leggings. Whatever you think it needs to be complete.” She winked at Marinette. “Obviously we’ll talk about it before I send it down the runway, but take this chance to shine a little, Marinette. I like your style.”

As though she hadn’t just handed Marinette a golden opportunity on a silver platter, she pushed her chair back and chose a donut. Biting into it, she asked, “So, what did you have to eat this weekend?”

It took Marinette a moment to breathe before she explained, “I went home for a little while. My parents own a bakery so I ate way too many sweets.”

Shah Maxi chuckled and licked glaze off her manicured fingers. “There is no such things as too many sweets. Now, back to the rat race!” She pulled out an overlarge sketchbook and began scribbling like mad in pen. She didn’t erase or change anything, just flipped from page to page in a maelstrom.

Smiling, Marinette bowed her head back over the order forms. 

They worked in companionable silence for several hours, pausing occasionally to ask questions. It was almost time for lunch when the doors slammed open with a crash. Shah Maxi looked up and let out a hard breath. Marinette glanced up to see what could have drawn everyone’s attention. 

Chloé barged in like a storm cloud with her arms wrapped around the biggest basket of muffins Marinette had ever seen in her life. Marinette ducked her head, half-expecting Chloé to march right into Gabriel Agreste’s office and beg forgiveness. She didn’t want to make a bigger spectacle of this than she already had. 

However, Chloé walked up to Marinette and dropped the basket in Marinette’s lap without preamble. 

Marinette jolted, grabbing the basket to keep it from falling.

“Can we talk?” Chloé asked. Her voice was surprisingly soft compared to her dramatic entrance. “In private?”

“Sure,” Marinette said. She placed the basket of muffins on Shah Maxi’s desk and stood up. 

Chloé marched back out of the room with her head held high, white-blonde ponytail swishing back and forth across her shoulders. Marinette trailing in her wake. Once the door closed behind them and they were alone in the lobby, Chloé crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes and she took Marinette’s hands in her own. 

“I am so sorry,” she cried, “for everything.”

Stunned, Marinette could only stare as Chloé wailed.

“I’ve been so terrible to you and you’ve only ever been nice. You could have ruined my life if you called the police at Le Chat Noir,” Chloé sobbed. “I want to help you, Marinette. I want to make it up to you. I know I’ll never have the skills to design like you do, but I can model. I can support you. I’ll help you any way I can, I promise.”

In that moment, Marinette saw Chloé for who she really was—a rich spoiled girl who possessed everything money could buy but not a single friend. For the first time, Marinette was grateful her parents were simple bakers and that they loved her more than anything. She was grateful for Alya, who was always at her side, and for Chat Noir, even though she wasn’t sure she would call him a friend. 

Gently, Marinette tugged Chloé to her feet. “Chloé,” she said softly.

Chloé sniffled, but made a visible effort to pull herself together.

“Thank you,” Marinette said. “I don’t know what you can do to help me right now, but if I think of something, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Shock showed on Chloé’s face. Her eyes welled with a fresh wave of tears. She threw her arms around Marinette’s neck and hugged her tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice cracked and quavered like ice when water was poured over it. “Thank you.”

Marinette patted Chloé’s back consolingly.

…

Marinette couldn’t explain how she found herself in the middle of a photo shoot for the new line of swimwear that Gabriel Agreste was about to release. She had a feeling it because the shoot came up on short notice while the afternoon was deliciously sunny but not too hot. The best way to avoid the press bursting into an open shoot was to be unpredictable, or so the photographer said. 

Shah Maxi kept tossing Marinette thongs, tops, and see-through cover-ups. Marinette had them all bundled in her arms, feeling for the entire world like a put-upon butler in service of a rich and pompous teenage girl. Then, Shah Maxi guided her through the halls, stuffed her into a waiting town car, clambered in beside her, and slammed the door. 

Shah Maxi sorted and stitched and prattled as they drove, asking Marinette to find something in the mess in her arms. She put things aside, put things together, folded some things, wadded up others, and finally dropped a lei over Marinette’s head. The car stopped, Shah Maxi pushed Marinette out, picked up a beach towel that she had dropped, and they hastened after the photographer. 

Awed, Marinette realized they were alongside the River Siene at the popular Paris-Plages. The river was walled off for safety purposes since it was fast-flowing and cold most of the year, but the rich golden sand was still enough to lodge a bubble of excitement in her chest. She loved the beach.

Shah Maxi’s heels sank in the sand and she put her hand on Marinette’s shoulder for balance as she pulled them off. 

“Tents, people,” the photographer called. “Time is money.”

“Give me those,” Shah Maxi said. She swept the clothing out of Marinette’s arms. “Go. Help set up the tents.”

Marinette nodded. Her feet sank through the soft sand, but her tennis shoes were more practical. A few early staff members were already setting up the tents and Marinette dove in to help. It didn’t take long for their combined efforts to set up a base camp. She stood back, brushed some hair out of her face, and beamed with pride. Two more town cars pulled up and parked. A stunning female model in a wide brimmed hat stepped out into the sand. 

“Here,” Shah Maxi said and thrust all the clothing back into Marinette’s arms, blinding her. “Just get him dressed and get him out,” she said. “We’re on a deadline.”

“Aren’t we always on a deadline?” Marinette asked with her mouth full of fake hibiscus blossoms.

“You’re so cute,” Shah Maxi said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Next thing she knew, Shah Maxi pushed her into the changing tent with a wink. Marinette assumed she would be helping one of the female models lace her bikini and put on sunscreen. Instead, she found herself face to face with Adrien Agreste. He wore acid-washed jeans and a pale t-shirt, deceptively casual, with an easy smile.

“Hey, Marinette,” he greeted. 

Marinette was grateful for the mound of clothing in her arms. It felt like a shield between them, giving her something to nervously twist her hands in. “Ah, hi, Adrien.”

“You remembered my name,” he said with a hint of a surprise.

Marinette pulled herself together with both hands. “You remembered mine too,” she said. 

The changing tent was like camping compared to the usual glamour of the photo shoots they held in the upper floors of Agreste Fashion. There weren’t any lights, furniture, or mirrors. Marinette held the clothing helplessly, uncertain of what to do now.

“The blue one first,” came the photographer’s voice from outside. “Chop, chop.”

Marinette rifled through the clothes, draping things over her arms and shoulders in some semblance of organization. Adrien crossed the small tent to assist, plucking two blue bathing suits from the pile. One was a form-fitting Speedo while the other was a pair of trunks with a subtle shark on the thigh. 

Adrien smiled, holing them both up. “Which one should we do first?”

The Speedo made Marinette think of the performances at Le Chat Noir and she was abruptly grateful that it wasn’t a g-string. “You’re the one who has to wear it,” she said instead of answering.

Adrien chuckled. “Could you turn around?”

“I’ll just step out,” Marinette said.

“I need you to hold my clothes, though. I don’t really want to put them back on full of sand,” he said.

Marinette couldn’t say she blamed him. “Alright,” she relented and turned her back. She could hear the sounds of his clothes coming off, a zipper being lowered and fabric rustling. Then, he draped still-warm jeans over her arm and she jolted.

“Sorry,” he said. “My wallet, keys, and phone are in there so don’t run out and throw them into the Seine.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “They’re safe with me,” she told him.

A moment later, he added his t-shirt to her arm. Marinette realized that his boxers were sure to come next and she felt a flush working its way into her cheeks already at the thought. However, Adrien didn’t drape anything else over her arm. He pulled on one of the swimsuits and said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Marinette stole a glance at him and her moth went dry. Speedo, she thought. He had put on the Speedo first. Since there was no possible way he could be hiding undergarments under that bun-hugging suit, she realized he must not have been wearing underwear at all. Her face flamed from the tips of her ears all the way to her throat.

“Are you alright?” Adrien asked as they stepped out of the tent. “Are you getting sunburned?”

Marinette shook her head hastily. “I’m fine,” she squeaked.

“Looking good, Adrien,” the photographer said. “Now, come over here.”

Shah Maxi attended the female model, spraying sunscreen across her shiny shoulders before shooing her away towards the makeup artist. Pulling an airbrush out of a case that reminded Marinette of a tackle box, the makeup artist quickly went about covering any flaws. Suddenly self-conscious, Marinette turned her attention away. 

Marinette fell in beside Shah Maxi and hissed under her breath, “You did that on purpose.”

Shah Maxi shrugged and patted some sunscreen across the bridge of her nose. “Marinette, if you’re in the tent with Adrien when he changes, it’s cute,” she said dramatically. “If I’m with him, it’s creepy.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. 

The makeup artist finished and put away her airbrush. Then, she artfully arranged the female model’s chocolate tresses into waves that spilled from beneath her sunhat. She turned her attention to Adrien, circled him briefly, and deemed him fit. The photographer immediately vaulted into taking an absurd amount of pictures, yammering to himself and the models as he did so.

“A little to the left,” the photographer chattered. “Make me love you. Oh, I love you. Mon chéri, if you would put your hand on Adrien’s shoulder—yes, lovely. Now on his bicep, ooh, admire that muscle.” The shutter clicked obscenely, rapid fire like bursts from an automatic machine gun. 

Marinette watched, trying to grasp what exactly the photographer was looking for in each pose and angle. They all looked lovely to her, but he would analyze and reposition after almost every photograph. After a little while, Marinette gave up. She had an eye for fashion, a flare for colors and seams, but creating a composition wasn’t one of her strong points.

She admired the models instead. 

Though Marinette was usually drawn to blue eyes, she found herself finding an exception for Adrien’s emerald orbs. The warm summer breeze tousled his golden hair, letting it fall in waves at the edges of his face. Tall and slender, the Speedo baring every inch of his lean torso and toned shoulders, he looked every bit a Greek god that had fallen to earth. 

Beside him, her graceful limbs complementing Adrien’s every curve, the young woman was everything Marinette imagined when she thought of a beautiful girl. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes sparkled like sunlight across the ocean, and her nails were perfectly manicured. Her flat stomach curled against Adrien’s hip, decorated with a single sunburst piercing at her navel.

“Next!” the photographer shouted, jolting Marinette from her thoughts.

Adrien smiled as he walked back to the changing tent. 

Shah Maxi hustled to assist the female model, leaving Marinette no choice except to follow Adrien. She still had his jeans and t-shirt looped over her forearm. As she turned her back, accepted the Speedo, and passed him a new pair of trunks, her attention returned to the matter of his underwear—or lack thereof. 

“Commando,” she muttered under her breath.

“Did you say something?”

“No, nothing,” she said quickly. A blush ripped from her ears to her toes and she hoped he would just assume it was from being in such close proximity to him. 

“Alright, I’m ready,” Adrien said. “Oh, can I have that lei?”

Marinette stared at him, her eyes wide, until he pointed at the circle of hibiscus blossoms around her neck with a smile. Stuttering, she removed it quickly and handed it to him. They exited the changing tent together and the photo shoot resumed where it left off. The photographer called for a few more changes of clothing and Marinette went along like a fish caught in the tide. 

After half an hour, they had gathered a small crowd of onlookers and it was time to wrap up. 

Marinette handed Adrien back his clothes, loaded all of the swimwear back into the town car, and climbed in beside Shah Maxi. She stared out the window as they drove away, trying to pretend the flush that ran throughout her body was from the hot summer day and not being in close quarters with a gorgeous young man who didn’t wear underwear beneath his jeans.

It didn’t work.

…

Though Marinette was exhausted from the photo shoot, working on Shah Maxi’s fall project, and then waitressing at the café for the afternoon rush until eight o’clock, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. The space between her legs was hollow and empty, tingling each time she saw a flash of blonde hair or blue eyes. She was twenty-one after all and, while not a slave to her hormones, she was certainly in touch with them. Sadly, it had been a long time for her.

Marinette drew a hot bath as soon as she got home, stripped off her clothes, and tried to soak away the hungry ache. The warm water was so relaxing as it softened her skin and muscles. The flickering amber glow of her favorite scented candle on the edge of the small tub made the curves of her body look more beautiful. She listened to some music, sipped a little tea, and tried to let everything go. Breathing out, Marinette blew bubbles on the water’s surface. 

“Just relax,” she whispered to herself. “It’s late. It’s Tuesday. Just relax.”

It didn’t work.

Defeated, Marinette slumped as deeply into the warm water as she could. Her knees poked out, chilled and prickling with goose bumps in the candlelight. Marinette closed her eyes and gave in to her desires. One hand slid against her belly, the other moved upwards to squeeze her breast. She flicked her nipple, tugged it, and arched her back so that the cool air could chill her overheated skin. It felt good, so good, but just not good enough.

She let her other hand fall lower, stroking the plump lips of her sex without delving in. She liked to be teased, but something about doing it to herself just wasn’t the same. She had too much control over her own hands. Giving up on the ruse, she slipped a finger into her aching core. The heel of her hand pressed to her pearl as she thrust, stroking her walls and searching for the tiny place inside that sent a surge of heat down to her toes. Moaning, she rocked against her hand.

The pleasure built, tingling and hot all through her blood. She rubbed her nipple, pinching just hard enough to make herself gasp. She thrust her fingers as deep as she could, rubbing her clit with the crest of her palm. Delight raged through her, pressing against the dam in the lower half of her belly. 

Then, it just stopped. 

Whimpering, Marinette tried to convince herself that fingers were enough, but they weren’t. She wanted to feel something inside her, something thick and hard and filling. She wanted kisses and rough hands. She needed to smell someone’s cologne, to feel the scrape of stubble on her breasts, to fall into an embrace that could pound every want out of her. She wanted something that she didn’t have on hand at home and couldn’t afford to buy.

It wasn’t often that her hormones built to this point, but there was no avoiding it. With a sigh of displeasure, Marinette gave up. She pulled the plug with her toes and sat up. Her legs trembled with the aftershocks as the water drained away. She wished it would take all her arousal with it, but no such luck. She dried off, hung up her towel, and padded naked to her bedroom. She didn’t bother with pajamas, turned on the television, and tried to go right to sleep.

She would feel better in the morning.

But she still couldn’t sleep. 

The sheets scraped her pert nipples, fell in cool waves over her hips, and made her hyperaware of every inch of her body. The hungry throb at her center clenched emptily. With a huff, Marinette threw off the blankets and stalked to her closet. She pulled open drawers and tugged things off the hangers, searching for something to get her the attention she needed. She was a mature confident woman. There was no reason she couldn’t have what she wanted.

Marinette found her favorite red lace thong and matching bra. She didn’t want to look as desperate as she felt though. Instead of tugging on something skintight with a plunging neckline and the shortest skirt, she chose a simple black silk blouse. She left a few too many buttons undone, baring a hint of her bra, and sprayed some perfume on her neck. She tossed aside a few skirts before settling on a red pencil skirt with a deep slit running up the side. It drew attention to her legs, but not too much attention.

The only place she allowed herself to look outrageously sexy was at her shoes. Usually she favored boots with a practical heel. Now, she pulled on her shiny cherry-red fuck-me-pumps. The fastened the strap at her ankle and put a quick coat of polish on her toes. After watching the models that day, she didn’t waste much time on her hair. Going for the same windswept curls, she put on some lipstick and eyeliner. That was it. She felt beautiful and hot and desirable.

Marinette grabbed her purse, dumped some condoms into it, and headed out into the night.

…

Marinette promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk tonight. She wanted to keep her wits about her, just in case. Too often she heard stories like this on the news about girls who went out for one night stands and never came home. She decided to go to Le Chat Noir because she was beginning to know the people that worked there and she was hoping she could take home a dancer or a bouncer. There would be nothing like those strong toned bodies. She wanted to drag her hands and tongue across every inch—

A flush of heat and wetness pooled between her legs. Marinette gave herself a quick shake and tried to focus. 

She dismissed the show when she entered. There were too many women in front of the stage, most of them prettier or showing much more skin. She couldn’t compete with that so she sidled up to the bar and ordered a cherry coke. She sat for a while, her legs crossed and slit in the skirt baring her thigh. She took a cherry from the drink and held it between her lips. Slowly, she made eye contact with a man down the bar and drew the cherry into her mouth. He grinned and looked about to come over when Marinette felt body heat along her side like a bonfire. 

“Are you trying to get picked up?” Chat Noir asked flatly.

The man down the bar turned away, staring embarrassedly into his drink. 

Marinette let her breath out slowly, chewed the cherry, and swallowed. “I’m not getting picked up,” she said shortly, confidence and eagerness mingling into a cocktail. “I’m doing the picking.”

“Really now?” Chat Noir asked without the dismissive tone she had been expecting. He sounded genuine and a little awed.

Marinette turned in her seat to face him, fixing him with a look that could have withered a lesser man in his tracks. Unperturbed, Chat Noir’s acid-green eyes flicked over her prominent cleavage and the way she stretched out her legs. His gaze settled on her shoes, bright red and spike heeled and obvious.

“Mind backing up?” Marinette asked him. “You’re making me look taken.”

Chat Noir chuckled. He was shirtless already, bare skin glistening, and his pants hung low on his hips. She traced the line of his pelvis with her eyes and stopped herself from wetting her lips.

Marinette suddenly thought of Adrien and his jeans and his nonexistent underwear. She forced herself not to shift restlessly, but her panties were wet and plastered to her skin. “Are you trying to pick me up instead?” Marinette asked when he didn’t move away and she couldn’t bear the closeness of his half-naked body any longer. “If not, get out of the way.”

Chat Noir leaned against the bar, languid and graceful with his ankles crossed. 

Max slid a drink across the bar to him.

“You know, I usually make it a point not to take home strange women,” Chat Noir remarked as he traced his gloved fingertip at the edge of his drink.

“You’ve already taken me home twice,” Marinette said to him curtly. 

He jolted slightly and she watched the gears turn in his head. He eyed his drink as though it had slipped him something. 

Marinette chuckled at his expense and finally put him out of his misery. “Believe me, you’d remember that.”

Chat Noir smirked at her. His teeth were so white and his eyes were so green in comparison to his mask. “Are you offering?” he asked.

Marinette hadn’t planned on taking home Chat Noir, but she came out intending to take home someone, so… why not Chat Noir? She already knew he wasn’t a serial killer, even if she didn’t know anything else about him. She paused just long enough to think it through before she slowly wet her lips.

Chat Noir’s eyes tracked the motion. 

She flicked her gaze up to his and smiled. “And if I am?” she asked. 

He plucked a cherry from her drink and put the stem between his teeth. He drew it in slowly, letting her watch every twitch of his mouth. After a moment, he finished the cherry and produced the stem. It had been tied into a knot.

Heat surged to Marinette’s core. She let her toes trace his calf and picked up her purse. “Your place or mine?”

…

Chat Noir took just long enough to put a shirt on over his naked chest, let his staff know where he was going (to a degree), and grab his car keys. Marinette had taken a cab and she was grateful not to have to call one again. Chat Noir’s car was just as sleek and comfortable as before, but it felt considerably smaller. She thought about reaching over and putting her hand on his crotch, but she didn’t know how far she would go and it would take one pothole to change their lives forever. 

Instead, they rode to her house in comfortable but tense silence. Marinette wanted what was coming and she figured he did to. She tried to steady her breathing, tried not to think about how she was probably wet through her skirt, and tried to focus on picking out the scent of his cologne. He remembered where she lived and parked smoothly. Marinette didn’t let herself leap out of the car or run up the stairs. In these shoes, she would probably break her ankle. Chat Noir followed sedately.

The anticipation built and built as though someone kept adding tinder to the fire. 

Marinette’s insides quivered and her breath came short. Her hands barely shook as she unlocked her front door and pushed it open. Chat Noir entered behind her and closed the door quietly. Marinette reached past him to flip the deadbolt. She was looking for an excuse to get started, to touch him, to rip all his clothes off.

His quiet laugh pulled her from her musings. “What happened to all your confidence, Marinette?”

She flushed and began a stinging retort.

Chat Noir’s hands, gloved and gentle, cupped her face and tugged her in. He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he fastened his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear and nipped. Marinette gasped, clutched desperately at the back of his shirt, and tilted her head to allow him greater access. Her eyes fluttered closed. If she hadn’t been utterly drenched before, she was now. Chat Noir’s breath gusted against her ear, sending a tingle of heat all the way to her toes. 

He pushed one hand through the tousled waves of her hair to tilt her head further and cupped her rear with the other, pulling her flush against his hardness. Marinette moaned and ground against him. She fumbled at her blouse and skirt, trying to tear everything off like paper. Chat Noir put a little space between them and his eyes glowed. Marinette shrugged out of her blouse, fumbled with the tiny zipper of her skirt, and finally peeled it away. In her pumps and matching bra and panties, she stood before him like a statuette. 

He didn’t remark on the sight, but his actions spoke louder than any words.

Chat Noir coiled his arms around her, drawing her flush against the muscles of his frame. The texture of his leather shirt was heaven on Marinette’s flushed skin. Despite the frenzy in Marinette’s blood, she soaked up each touch and caress. The tips of Chat Noir’s gloves had tiny hard claws and he drew them slowly down her exposed back, prying a torrent of goose bumps and trembles from her. Her breasts welled over the cups of her bra. He lowered his mouth to the swell and nipped.

Marinette whimpered. She tangled her fingers in his golden hair, tugging insistently. Chat Noir unhooked her bra and Marinette quickly wiggled the lacy straps down her shoulders. She didn’t let herself worry about how small her breasts were now that her bombshell bra was off. Chat Noir was already in the door with his erection pressed against her thigh. Fat chance he was going to back out now. Sure enough, he lowered his mouth to her nipple and took it between his teeth.

She gasped, fire surging through her body as he licked and sucked. When she couldn’t take anymore and whined softly, he pulled back slightly. The point of his nose, made slightly sharp by the end of his mask, trailed between her breasts. She shivered as the sensation went through her. He nosed the underside of her breast, around the side, and over the peak of her nipple. When she whimpered, he pressed a kiss to the swell. Licking the valley between her breasts, he began moving downwards.

Marinette tugged his hair and he straightened in front of her. His green eyes sparkled and his lips were parted.

Whatever she had been going to say vanished from her mind. She closed the space between them, kissing him fiercely for the first time. His mouth opened beneath her onslaught, allowing her tongue inside. He tasted of cherries and coke. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled. He groaned and crushed her into the wall. Marinette lifted her leg over his hip, trembling as her thong rubbed against her intimate places. She rocked her hips to encourage him, to welcome him, to plead for what she wanted so badly.

Chat Noir answered by gripping her naked ass and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to his shoulders to support her weight. He turned around, pulling her away from the wall and carrying her a few steps into her small kitchen. He set her down on the counter. The cold surface made her jolt, pressing her breasts into his chest. The high collar of his leather shirt prevented Marinette from fastening her lips to his throat. She found the zipper and pulled it down as she had before. 

Chat Noir leaned back enough for her to push it from his shoulders. Then, he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her naked chest to his. Her nipples were like little stones, rubbing against him. He gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the counter so he could grind against her very core. She gasped and trembled, grateful that he wouldn’t be able to feel her wetness through his leather pants. Marinette put her mouth over his pulse and sucked, her teeth scraping. 

Chat Noir pulled away. He kissed her as he whispered, “No marks.”

Though confused, Marinette didn’t argue. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his pants and tried to shimmy them down.

His lips curved into a smile against hers. His hands joined hers. There was a ripping sound as he jerked off his tear-away pants in one practiced motion. He had on briefs tonight and Marinette’s eyes were drawn to his crotch. If she thought the bulge was impressive before, she wasn’t prepared for his erection in its entirety. He smirked as he eased his briefs down his hips and stepped out of them. Marinette reached out, awed as she measured his length and girth in her fingers.

“Impressive,” she whispered.

“Thanks,” he said cheekily. “I work out.”

Marinette glowered and gave him a few deft strokes in retribution. His eyes fluttered shut and she tightened her grip but her fingers still weren’t quite able to touch.

Chat Noir leaned close, his breath whispering against the shell of her ear. He nibbled her lobe, tongue snaking out to tease the sensitive skin. He stroked a path from her shoulders down her arms with his sharp fingertips. Once he reached her hands, his fingers jumped to her knees and trailed upwards. Marinette tensed as he caressed her inner thighs without reaching the place she wanted the most. She clutched at him, turned her head to catch his lips, and kissed him hungrily.

Chat Noir teased the seam between her thong and her inner thigh, the claw of his glove lighting her on fire. She gasped and his tongue snaked into her open mouth, licking just behind her teeth. Then, he drew away with an audible pop and Marinette whined at the loss. Her glazed eyes focused as he lifted one hand to his mouth, took the tip of his glove between his teeth, and tugged it off. He trailed soft fingers over her cheek, down her neck, and over the swell of her breast. 

Marinette tilted her head back, gasping as he paused to tease her nipple. His fingers trailed lower, over her hip, down her thigh, and back upwards again. Marinette thought she might come apart from those innocent touches alone. Her core clenched emptily, eagerly, and she gripped his hips. His fingers just grazed the lips of her core.

“My god,” he purred into her neck. “You’re so, so wet.”

Marinette flushed and whispered, “Don’t make fun of me.”

He pushed two long fingers into her and pressed his thumb just above her pearl. Her muscles seized down on his fingers. She threw her head back, crying out wordlessly at the intense pleasure. He pumped his fingers into her, stroking her walls, and rubbing his thumb in fast little circles. It was all Marinette could do to hold herself upright. Her fingers trembled where they gripped his hip and shoulder. Chat Noir’s claws found her breast and scraped gently. The sensation overwhelmed Marinette in an instant. 

A breathless moan and sigh escaped her as she came, clinging to him as if he was her last lifeline in a storm. She panted into his shoulder as she came down from her high. He continued stroking her gently, smoothing away the aftershocks.

“That was,” she panted, “that was amazing.”

Her hands shook as she reached to take his shaft in her hands. “I have protection in my purse,” she said but she had no idea where it was now and added, “and in my room.”

“No offense, Marinette,” Chat Noir said. “But I don’t think the size you bought will fit me.”

She regarded his size and couldn’t find it in her to argue. If not for the mind-blowing orgasm that had turned her limbs to jelly, she wouldn’t have thought he could fit at all. He picked up his pants, removed his wallet, and took out a condom. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he opened it and rolled it on himself. Marinette wrapped her legs around his waist and shifted her hips forward slightly. The head of his length met her opening and pushed in slowly. She gasped, tipping her head back in delight, as he filled her to the brim. 

The stretch wasn’t painful, not after her orgasm, but he was definitely larger than anyone else she had been with. Plus, it had been a while and she knew she was tight. He groaned into her shoulder as he sheathed himself and then paused to let her adjust to the pressure. Marinette breathed out shakily in pleasure and satisfaction.

“Move,” she whispered. “Please, move.”

Chat Noir didn’t have to be asked twice. 

He gripped her hips tighter. His bare hand was a brand on her skin while the leather glove and pricking claws captured her attention. He thrust into her, hard and fast. Her breasts bounced with the force and each breath burst out of her. She was so sensitive from her orgasm that each motion sent a shiver down her spine. She clutched him, panting open-mouthed against his throat. He turned his head to capture her lips, swallowing the pleased sounds that escaped her. 

He angled his hips slightly and found that little place inside that sent a bolt of lightning through her nerves. 

Marinette cried out sharply and then gasped, “Again. Right there. Again.”

He obliged, thrusting against the wall of her core so that his long shaft rubbed entirely. Overfull and oversensitive, it didn’t take much to pry a second orgasm from Marinette’s bones. She cried out desperately as her muscles clenched down. It felt even better to have his thick hard shaft inside her rather than his fingers. Her body fed on his, lifting her higher and higher. Chat Noir slammed deeply against her and buried his face into her neck with a moan. She felt him twitch as he emptied. 

Her arms went limp, draped over his shoulders like a scarf, as she returned to herself. 

He remained hard and still inside her.

“Can you go again?” she breathed out when he hadn’t softened even after they both caught their breaths.

He nodded. “Can you?”

Marinette swallowed and nodded. “Let’s go to my room.”

He separated from her with a wet squelch.

Shaking all over, Marinette hopped down from the counter. Her heels almost tripped her, but she steadied herself on the counter. She took one shaking step and then Chat Noir swept her up in his arms. He carried her down the hall, blindly seeking her bedroom, but the apartment was small enough to make the search easy. He nudged open the door and Marinette wished she had taken a moment to put away all the clothes she had pulled out of her closet.

Chat Noir chuckled. “Couldn’t decide what to wear?”

“Most of my clothes look better on the floor,” she said instead.

He laid her on the bed.

Marinette pressed her toes to his chest as she tugged off her thong and threw it aside.

“I don’t know,” Chat Noir remarked. “I think that looked better on you.”

She rolled her eyes and crooked her finger at him.

Chat Noir settled between her thighs.

Marinette tucked her fingers beneath his chin and lifted his face to kiss her. Her nose pressed to his mask and she drew back to look at him. Tousled golden hair and shining green eyes—she was beginning to think that it might be her new type. She reached for his face, thumbs sliding against the seam where his mask met his skin. She tucked her thumb beneath the material.

Chat Noir jolted back as though he had been struck.

She stared up at him, confused.

A moment later, he fixed a smile on his face. “The mask stays on,” he said, “but if you need a name to cry out, you can just call me Chat.”

Marinette looked about to protest so he parted the lips of her sex and sheathed himself within her, erasing every thought she had and replacing it with blinding pleasure. Her nails raked his back as she sought to anchor herself. He tugged her hands down to tangle in the sheets instead. Marinette whimpered and struggled to rise to meet his every fast thrust. 

He hooked his elbows beneath her knees and lifted her slightly, allowing himself to drive deeply into her. Her breath exploded out of her along with a wanton moan. Her hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. Chat Noir pounded into her, lowering his face to nibble her breasts. She squeezed her eyes shut, lips parting to gasp in delight, as he drew his tongue over her nipple. 

“Ah, Chat,” she moaned.

He thrust harder and faster, rocking every inch of her body. He hitched her legs higher, holding them over his shoulders until she was bent nearly in half. He was so deep inside her that she could almost taste him. Pleasure seared her blood, but she couldn’t take it anymore. He was too thick and too deep. She warded him off with one shaking hand, her fingers trembling against his chest.

Chat Noir pulled back and withdrew from her body. Concern marked his features. 

Shaking like a leaf in a gale, Marinette pulled herself onto her knees. To erase his worry, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “This way,” she murmured and turned onto her hands and knees. 

Offering herself to him, she was the most erotic and beautiful sight. Chat Noir grasped her hips and slid into her from behind with a groan. Marinette trembled beneath his hands, her muscles quivering around his length, and she breathed out shakily. Chat Noir began to move, keeping his pace slow and gentle. She moaned quietly in delight. He reached around her torso to grasp her breasts, stroking his thumbs over her pert nipples in time with his thrusts.

She was so wet and hot. The tiny sounds that escaped her and little half-stifled whispers of his name went right to his groin. He bent over her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She tensed, her searing sheath clenching tight around him. He was still so sensitive from his first orgasm that it didn’t take long to reach the second peak. He groaned, mouth opening against her skin, as he came. Marinette slumped against the sheets, breathing in little gasps.

He remained inside her as he softened, pressing tiny kisses to her shoulder.

Finally, she raised herself onto her elbows and pulled away from him. She collapsed on her back, thoroughly delighted and exhausted. “Garbage is there,” Marinette offered and pointed to the trash can beside her desk.

He peeled off the condom, knotted it, and threw it away. 

She struggled to sit up with her every muscle quivering from pleasure and drew her shaking legs against herself. “Do you want to shower?”

His shoulders were streaked with sweat and his thighs were wet with her. “That would be great,” he answered.

Marinette eased out of bed and beckoned him to follow. Utterly naked and spent, she opened the bathroom and pulled a towel out of the cupboard. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I couldn’t deny you anything,” he said.

Marinette smiled as she turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and stepped in. Chat Noir followed behind her and tugged the shower curtain closed. The tub was really too small for two people, but she made it work. Squeezing some body wash onto her loofah, Marinette worked it into a rich lather. She washed herself first, rinsed, and then repeated the process with the loofah.

“Turn around,” she said to Chat Noir. “I’ll wash your back.”

Puzzled, he obeyed.

Marinette scrubbed his back, working the sponge against him as she massaged the tension from his shoulders. She pressed his shoulder to make him turn around again and offered the same treatment to his chest. Her fingers lingered on his muscles, tracing the lines and curves of his body. Then, she handed him the sponge and said, “You can wash the rest yourself.”

Chat Noir nodded dumbly.

Marinette stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself as she combed the tangles from her hair. “You can stay the night if you want,” she said.

“I should get back to the club,” he told her.

She didn’t argue.

Chat Noir turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He wrapped himself in the towel Marinette had put out for him and dried off slowly. He studied her—the fall of her raven hair, the tiny droplets of water on her neck, the flush that graced her cheeks, the minute shivers that still wracked her.

“That was great,” Marinette said finally. “I needed that.”

“No problem,” Chat Noir answered. “Anytime, I’d be happy to help.”

She flashed him a sweet smile and stepped out of the bathroom in a waft of steam. Chat Noir followed her to the kitchen and picked up his clothes. He redressed and handed her the damp towel, watching as she draped it over her forearm. 

“Thanks Chat,” she said.

He smiled at her and left.

X X X

The bit with Shah Maxi pushing Marinette into the dressing room with Adrien was inspired by my life at work. I work in a small restaurant and my older coworker always pushes me off to serve anyone she thinks it eligible for me. It’s sweet and weird all at the same time.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	5. "What Constitutes a Ten?”

So between my two jobs, there is no way I can keep up on every other day updates. Look for updates on this story every Monday. If I manage more, so be it.

X X X

Marinette had a love-hate relationship with rain. On the one hand, she loved rainy days for lounging in her bed with a good book or a marathon of scary movies. On the other, she absolutely hated them when she had to get anything done. They made her content and sleepy. On rainy days, she loved to take walks with her umbrella with her most comfortable knee-high boots on. She despised having to ride to work on her bicycle in the rain. It was terrible enough that she had to bike there, but the rain just made it worse.

With her clear plastic umbrella hitched over her shoulder to protect her from the worst of the cold drops, Marinette put on her thick boots and a sweater and ventured out into the grey morning. Each puddle she rode through splashed against her boots, clawing at her with hungry icy fingers. Droplets dripped off her umbrella and landed on her arms and back. Frustrated, she paused at a red light and tried to adjust her umbrella. It didn’t help that the motion of pedaling caused the umbrella to shift wildly. 

Huffing, Marinette waited for the light to turn green. She would probably be more wet than dry by the time she made it to Agreste Fashion. Her sweater wasn’t doing much to protect her from errant drops, but at least her feet were still dry. She really needed to invest in a raincoat. So what if they were ugly so long as she was dry? Maybe she could design one and show it to Shah Maxi. It rained in every part of the world at some point and Marinette had no doubt an attractive raincoat would be a good sell.

A shiny Mercedes pulled up at the red light, slowly sliding through the puddle so as not to soak pedestrians even though Marinette was the only one crazy enough to be out in the rain on her bike at seven thirty in the morning. She could see her ridiculous reflection on the clean black sides and reached to smooth her wild hair. Maybe she should have worn a hat.

“Marinette?” came a curious voice.

She snapped her attention forward. A startled “What?” coming out of her like a squawk. 

Rolling down the window the rest of the way, Adrien smiled winningly at her from the driver’s side of the car. “Would you like a ride? I have a hunch we’re going to the same place.”

Marinette pressed her lips together. She desperately wanted to agree, but her bike was muddy and wet and her boots were no better. She couldn’t put that mess in his Mercedes. She protested, “My bike—” 

As though knowing what she was about to say, he interrupted, “This car needs to be cleaned anyway. This will give me a good excuse to finally get around to it.” He popped the trunk and smiled at her, withdrawing into the vehicle as droplets of rain splattered on his exposed arm. 

Marinette lifted her bike into the trunk, closed her umbrella, threw it in after the bike, and clambered into the front seat. “Thank you, Adrien,” she said once she had shut the door and they pulled away from the traffic light. Her hands were cold and she rubbed them together for warmth.

“My pleasure,” he said and flipped on the heat.

Marinette flashed him a smile, but he kept his eyes on the road. The tires hummed over the wet pavement, drops pattered on the windshield, and the steady whup-whup of the windshield wipers lulled her. She wished Adrien would say something or else she’d fall asleep in his comfortable car. Adrien rubbed his damp elbow on his jeans, reminding Marinette that he probably wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath. An abrupt flash of the previous night with Chat Noir flared through her blood. She fumbled to distract herself before she became wet from something other than rain. 

Stifling her raging thoughts, Marinette asked, “What brings you in so early today?”

A hint of bitterness touched Adrien’s voice as he said, “Father wants to see me.”

“Sounds like it’s not all chocolate and roses being the son of the biggest fashion mogul in Paris, huh?” Marinette asked.

Adrien glanced at her sharply, his green eyes wide.

Marinette could have slapped herself. Here he was being nice enough to give her a ride in the rain and put her dirty bike in his trunk and she had to go and say something stupid like that. “Oh my gosh,” she said hastily. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I have a terrible habit of just opening my mouth and saying whatever comes to mind.” She almost told him about how she had asked Chat Noir if he wore a mask because he was disfigured, but she decided that telling him about her adventure at a strip club wouldn’t help at all. She fumbled, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“It’s fine,” Adrien said. A sad little smile pulled at the edge of his lips. “I was just surprised you said that.”

“I know,” Marinette blurted. “I shouldn’t have.”

Adrien pulled to a stop at another light, but didn’t look at her. “I meant that I didn’t think it was so obvious.” He breathed out. “I guess just because I’m a model doesn’t mean I’m an actor too.”

Marinette’s train of thought derailed. She looked over at him in surprise, taking in the curve of his jaw and the line of his mouth. Dim grey shadows fell across his face, hollowing where his pale hair hung over his features. His profile looked very young and so sad. Marinette wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him that sometimes parents were hard, wanted to assure him that things would get better, but she hated empty words. She didn’t want to say them, especially to someone who already looked like they were on the cusp of giving up.

“Adrien,” she murmured softly.

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “You didn’t get in the car to hear about my problems. Are you working on any new designs?”

Marinette wanted to protest, to insist he could talk to her if he needed, but she could see that he didn’t want to talk about it. She took a breath and said, “Actually, yes. Shah Maxi is letting me help design her fall casual line.”

“For the Fashion Show?” Adrien asked.

Marinette nodded and shyly pushed her fingers against her leggings. “Yeah,” she said. “She wants me to complete her designs, adding whatever I think they need.”

“That’s amazing,” Adrien said. “I’ll be in the show, too. Be sure to design something great for me to wear.”

Marinette smiled and nodded eagerly. “I will—I mean, I’ll try to,” she said.

Adrien’s smile was bright enough to illuminate the rainy day. “I know you will,” he said. 

She blushed, but didn’t get a chance to argue his faith in her. They bounced into the parking lot, splashing through tiny puddles. Marinette was a little sad that they had made it to Agreste Fashion so quickly. She wanted to talk to Adrien a little bit longer.

Adrien pulled up in front of the door and pressed his foot on the brake. “I’ll let you off here, okay? Hopefully it will stop raining by the time you’re off.”

“Thank you so much for the ride,” Marinette said. She put hand on the door and hesitated. She couldn’t get the image of Adrien’s sad expression out of her mind. She wanted to do something for him, but she didn’t know what. Before she could second-guess her choice, she turned back to face him.

He stared at her, a confused smile flickering over his lips. “Marinette?”

She put her hand over his where it rested on the gearshift. His skin was warm despite the rainy chill. “Listen, Adrien, if you ever need to talk, you can talk to me,” she said earnestly. “I will never judge you and anything you say to me will be our secret.”

He looked startled, his green eyes widening.

Content that she had said her peace, Marinette withdrew her hand and smiled at him. “Thanks for the ride, Adrien. I’ll see you around.” She hopped out of the car, hoisted her bike and umbrella out of the trunk, and turned her back on Adrien’s car. She didn’t hear him pull away, even after she had locked her bike on the rack and stepped inside. Only once the door had closed did she allow herself to turn around and look where his car had been parked. It was empty and only the rainy day remained. 

…

It was still raining—in fact, it was horrifically pouring—when Marinette finished at Agreste Fashion for the day. She stood mournfully in the lobby, looking out at the downpour and despairing her lack of transportation. Marinette got herself a cup of coffee from the employee lounge and called Alya.

“Hey, Marinette,” Alay answered without preamble. “What’s up?”

“It’s pouring and I only have my bike,” Marinette whined pitifully.

Marinette could hear Alya roll her eyes at her dramatics. “I’ll be off in an hour,” she told Marinette. “Can you wait that long? I might be able to leave in twenty if I pull some strings.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can wait,” Marinette said and sipped her coffee. 

“Cool,” Alya said. “I’ll pick you up then.”

“Thanks, Alya,” Marinette cheered. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Alya said cheekily and hung up. 

Marinette occupied herself sitting in the lobby, watching people come in and out through the rain in a variety of styles. Some wore raincoats and heavy boots, others were dressed like it was sunny outside, most simply carried colorful umbrellas. After a while, she took her sketchbook out of her shoulder bag and began to doodle ideas for an attractive raincoat. When she caught herself adding cat ears to an umbrella, she put her sketchbook away and looked at the time. Alya should arrive any minute. Marinette put up her umbrella and went outside to wait.

She heard Alya before she saw her. Her car ran pretty well most of the time, but whenever it rained, its belt howled obnoxiously. Alya had to turn her music up extra loud to drown out the whining of the belt. Marinette pushed her bike down the steps, loaded it into Alya’s trunk, kicked the door to open it, and climbed in. Her windshield wipers squeaked as they slid back and forth.

“I hope it stops raining soon or else I’m going to be writing a story about Noah’s Ark,” Alya muttered as she pulled out of the parking lot. 

“You’re not kidding,” Marinette said. “I had to ride my bike to work in this weather.”

“You should have called,” Alya said. “I would have given you a lift.”

“It wasn’t raining that hard this morning and I knew you’d still be asleep,” Marinette said. 

“You’re too nice, Marinette,” Alya said. 

“It’s just a little rain. It’s made me think about designing a fashionable raincoat.”

“That would be killer. You should have seen the ridiculous plastic poncho out weatherman was wearing today,” Alya said and turned noisily through a deep puddle. Water flared up on either side of the car, momentarily drowning out the whine of Alya’s wet belt. “So, what’d you do last night?”

Marinette immediately gave herself away by pressing her knees together, blushing, and stammering out, “Nothing. I just hung out and watched a movie.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Really? What movie?”

“Um, I don’t remember. It was pretty late,” Marinette told her friend.

“Uh-huh,” Alya said dismissively. She waited a moment before going in for the kill. “I’d heard that having mind-blowing sex could erase parts of your memory, but I didn’t know it was true.”

Marinette jumped in her seat. “What?”

“Give it up, girl,” Alya said. “I can tell.”

Marinette heaved out a sigh. “How can you always tell?”

“Call it a reporter’s hunch,” Alya said. “Want to share any details?”

Marinette kept her eyes focused on the windshield wipers as they streaked back and forth. “It was definitely amazing.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“What constitutes a ten?”

Alya shrugged. “You tell me. I’ve only ever been at a solid seven.”

Marinette gnawed her lower lip. “I think it might have been at least a nine,” she admitted. “And I don’t even know what could have made it better.” 

“Whoa, Level Nine Sex?” Alya repeated.

“Maybe it was a ten?” Marinette said in a small voice.

“Level Ten Sex?” Alya exclaimed. “Boy howdy!” 

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed. 

“Anyone I know? Or you’re not admitting to anything?”

“I’m not telling,” Marinette said. Of all the things she was ready to tell Alya about her relationships, she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit to taking home Chat Noir. Nor was she prepared to explain that she didn’t know his real name and she hadn’t even seen his face because he had refused to take off his mask. “But it was damn good.”

“So what were you wearing when you snagged Mr. Ten?” Alya asked.

Marinette laughed. “A black blouse and my red pencil skirt with the slit up the thigh,” she said.

Alya made a face. “Seriously?”

“And those cherry-red fuck-me pumps,” she added.

Alya wolf-whistled. “Man, you should patent those things.”

Marinette rolled her shoulders, smiling. “They’re how I got Spike.”

“Girl, I hate to burst your bubble, but no one was competing with you for Spike.”

Marinette glowered at Alya for a moment and then smirked. “Well, those shoes are how I got Rolf, too.”

Alya fanned herself dramatically. “Touché!”

Marinette clasped her hands together and waved them victoriously. 

“So do you want to go out and do something tonight?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Marinette protested.

Alya shrugged. “So what? Life is short.”

Marinette didn’t have a good argument against that. “What do you have in mind?” 

And so, she found herself at Le Chat Noir once again. Marinette forced herself not to act awkwardly and tip Alya off by blushing or stammering. Her friend knew her too well and would zero in if she smelled a rat. It was the reporter in her. Thankfully, Chat Noir wasn’t at the bar or on the stage when they entered so Marinette had some time to think.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Marinette offered.

“I’ll grab a table,” Alya answered with a thumbs up.

Marinette made her way to the bar and waved to Max. 

It took Max a moment to finish what he was doing and come over to her with a broad smile. “You’re becoming quite the regular,” he said.

Marinette fought back a blush. “I like the vibe here,” she said. “Plus, I know no one will let me go home drunk or get accosted.”

“Both are true,” Max said. “So, what can I get you tonight?”

“A rum and coke for my friend,” Marinette said, “and I’ll have a cherry coke.”

Max mixed them with an elaborate flourish and dropped a plastic sword of cherries in each drink. 

Marinette gave him some money and said, “Keep the change.” She picked up the drinks and carried them to where Alya was waiting. 

“What is it?” Alya asked. 

“Tequila and coke,” Marinette responded.

“No,” Alya whined. “I can’t have any more tequila. That was the worst hangover of my life.”

Marinette giggled. “You were pretty funny,” she said, “but it’s not tequila. Just trust me and have a taste.”

Alya regarded Marinette over the lip of her glass, took a sip, and purred, “Yummy. I love rum.”

Since it was early on a Wednesday, Le Chat Noir was empty enough to allow them a table near the front of the stage. It looked like there was a rowdy bachelorette party crowded at the lip of the stage if all the screaming and cursing was anything to go by. Watching those girls was almost as interesting as watching the strippers.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” Marinette asked Alya.

“One of them got a promotion to nuclear physicist and the other is pregnant with triplets,” Alya said matter-of-factly.

Marinette stared at her. “Do you really know that?”

Alya grinned. “No, but if you’re going to make a guess, you might as well make it an interesting one.”

Marinette took a sip of her drink. “You’re silly.”

They turned their attention to the stage. MAX blared over the speakers, pulsing like the beat of a heart. His song ‘Puppeteer’ had always been silky and sultry, but when coupled with Le Chat Noir’s elaborate show, it was practically an orgasm under a bright light. 

“Tell me little something, little more than just your name!” the dancer lip-synced. 

Portraying the puppeteer was someone Marinette didn’t recognize. His flame-red hair was gelled into a Mohawk that stood outrageously tall on his head. He wore a long black trench coat over his slender form, the belt knotted simply. He tugged it off and whipped it around elaborately before drawing it between his legs and thrusting his hips with a grin. He threw open his trench coat, exposing his lean chest. He had a dark tribal tattoo along the curve of his ribs and a thorny bracelet of roses around his bicep.

“I don’t bite, but I heard you might!” MAX sang.

The girls at the edge of the stage screamed as he let the coat fall and stood before them in a pair of red briefs to match his hair. He crept along the stage, wiggling seductively, as he mimed a puppet with his hands. He came up to the edge of the stage like a man approaching a diving board for the first time, a mix between caution and exhilaration. He must have been new, Marinette decided. He smiled at the audience and leaned close.

“So let me feed your appetite!” he sang along.

One of the girls reached out with dollars between her fingers like claws. She ran them down his bare torso, traced the shape of his tattoo, and made to hook them into his briefs. He angled his hip, singing along to her like she was the only person in the room. It should have been harmless and fun, the way it should have been, but the girl’s ring snagged a thread on his briefs. Marinette saw it stretch like a spider web and then it was over.

The seam at the side of the briefs split open and they tore from the young man’s body. A gasp of delight went through the crowd of giggling girls before horror shocked through them. The young man didn’t have typical genitalia. In fact, Marinette wasn’t sure a gender could be assigned to him at all. 

One of the girls screamed, too drunk to control herself. 

Her friend pointed one long manicured finger. “Oh god, what is he?” 

“It’s not a he,” another girl slurred. “It’s an it!”

The red-haired dancer’s eyes filled with tears that dripped down his cheeks in a torrent. He covered himself with his hands, too stricken to move.

The music snapped off and the DJ’s voice blasted urgently over the speakers. “Chat Noir!”

Before she could think, Marinette was already on the stage and Alya surged up behind her. Marinette grabbed the crumpled trench coat from the stage and swept it around the dancer. He flinched from her hands and a ragged sob tore from his lips. Marinette could see that her closeness wasn’t helping right now, but she didn’t want to move away from him. She felt like a shield between him and the rest of the world. If she moved, arrows would sink into him.

Alya rushed to the edge of the stage and planted her hands on her hips. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!” she shouted at the girls. Her voice cut through the quiet club like a hot knife through butter. “How dare you!”

“What happened?” Chat Noir demanded as he appeared from backstage.

“His underwear got ripped off,” Marinette explained.

Chat Noir’s green eyes flashed to the girls like twin daggers. He took in the sight of Alya standing over them like an avenging angel, shouting, and then back to Marinette.

“It was an accident,” Marinette told him.

Chat Noir nodded though his fierce expression didn’t change. He grasped the dancer by his bicep, turned him away from the howling girls, and steered him backstage. “Marinette, come with me,” he called back over his shoulder, “and bring your friend.”

“Alya!” Marinette called, but Alya didn’t stop until Marinette grasped her by the back of her pants and towed her after Chat Noir. 

Chat Noir let the curtain close and gestured to a more experienced dancer waiting in the wings. “Take over,” he said, “If you can.”

“I’ve got it,” the dancer said. He patted the sobbing young man on the shoulder as he passed. Strong and muscular, Marinette had a feeling he would be all right even if the stage collapsed around him. He took the stage and the music resumed. The girls squealed and cheered as though they hadn’t just ripped the heart out of someone.

Chat Noir pushed the crying dancer into a chair and tucked the trench coat around him more securely. “Nathanaël,” Chat Noir said gently.

Through his tears, Nathanaël didn’t even look up. 

Marinette grabbed a handful of tissues from a box nearby and pressed them into Nathanaël’s hand. 

“Give him a minute,” Alya said. “This isn’t something you’re going to be able to talk into perfect anyway.”

Chat Noir remained crouched in front of Nathanaël, his bare hands hovering like twin butterflies that weren’t sure were to land. Marinette put her hand on his shoulder. When he looked back at her, she tilted her chin. With a soft breath, Chat Noir eased to his feet and stepped away. They didn’t go far, just far enough that their whispered voices couldn’t be heard over the pounding music. Nathanaël sobbed quietly into his hands.

“What happened with him?” Alya asked Chat Noir. “Is he trans?”

Chat Noir shook his head. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but he’s been like that since he was a child. It’s some sort of birth defect.”

Alya made a noise of understanding. “Intersex,” she murmured.

Chat Noir nodded slowly. 

“Bummer,” Alya murmured.

Marinette gripped her elbows in her opposite hands. She felt cold all over from watching those girls treat him like that. He had no control over how he had been born and it probably tormented him enough already. She couldn’t imagine what made him want to work at a strip club, but he probably wanted to feel beautiful and desired despite what malformed him. In Le Chat Noir, with his briefs on, he could. She wondered if he would be able to now that this had happened.

“Thanks,” Chat Noir murmured, “for what you both did. Not many people would have jumped onto the stage like that.”

“What were we supposed to do? Just watch?” Alya asked.

Chat Noir didn’t answer. He pushed a hand through his mussed golden hair and dragged it down over his masked face. He looked exhausted, but not only that, he looked worn-down. He looked as though the world had taken all he had to offer and left him empty inside. He looked like he wanted to sleep for centuries. 

“I’m going to talk to Nathanaël,” Chat Noir said, “and see if I can fix any of this. Ladies, you enjoy the rest of your night. Drinks are on the house.”

Alya nodded slowly.

Marinette wanted to reach out to Chat Noir, put her hand on his arm, draw his body into her own, press her lips to his cheek, but she didn’t. “Thanks,” she said and cast her eyes at Nathanaël. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“I will,” he said and turned back towards Nathanaël.

Despite Chat Noir’s generous offer of drinks on the house, the excitement to the evening was kind of ruined. Alya was too cranky to sit still and Marinette didn’t feel like enjoying herself at Le Chat Noir when she knew a poor boy was crying backstage. Nor could either of them listen to the group of stupid girls cheering at the edge of the stage like they hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I feel sober,” Alya said. 

“I’ll drive,” Marinette told her.

They left together. Marinette slid behind the wheel and Alya kicked open the passenger side door. There was good music playing on the radio, but Marinette didn’t sing along—not even badly to make Alya laugh. The Paris night slid by like a sheet of silk outside the windows, cool and deep.

“You know,” Alya said finally as she drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Chat Noir is really nice. When I think strip club, I usually think of seedy guys and keeping a close eye on my drink, but he’s just… I don’t know. He really seems to care about everything that goes on in that club, like when he drove us home.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. She wanted to tell Alya everything she had learned about Chat Noir—from his attachment to his mask, his need for freedom, the way he listened when she was upset and drove her home afterwards, the care he lavished on her body, the gentle stroke of his fingers—but she bit down on those confessions. 

“Marinette?” Alya asked.

Marinette would never lie to Alya so she said, “I’d like to know him better.”

Alya nodded and leaned back in her seat with a deep tired sigh. “Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to take off that weird mask and meet us for drinks.”

That thought made Marinette sadder than it should have.

X X X

Thanks for all the support, everyone. Like I said, I am definitely not going to stop this story, but I just can’t keep up between my two jobs. Look for updates on Mondays! I can totally hold down a weekly update, maybe a little more if I can find the time.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	6. "Do You Remember Me?"

Next month, February will have exactly four of every day of the week. Enjoy it, because it only happens once every 823 years!

X X X

Marinette had just gotten out of the shower Saturday morning when there was a knock on her apartment door. Hastily yanking on jeans and a t-shirt, she scurried to answer it. Peering through the peephole, all she could see was a spray of bright flowers. “Who is it?” she called.

“Delivery for Marinette,” came a squeaky voice.

She unbolted the door and pulled it open with a smile. Barefoot and with her wet hair dripping on her shoulders, she let out a small gasp of mortification when Chat Noir appeared behind the flowers. To his credit, his eyes didn’t linger long on her bedraggled appearance.

“Hey,” he said and passed her the flowers. He had a large box of chocolates under his other arm and held it out to her.

Marinette tried to juggle the flowers in a position that allowed her to take the chocolates, but they were hopelessly oversized. She stepped back and beckoned him inside. Setting the flowers on the counter, she accepted the chocolates. Her mouth watered when she saw Godiva’s logo. “What’s all this for?” she asked so she wouldn’t drool.

“Read the card,” he said. He braced his palms against her counter and leaned back on them. He wore casual clothes with his mask and it would have been jolting except he looked even more drool-worthy than the chocolates. His black t-shirt hugged his abdomen, his dark-washed jeans hung low on his hips and bared just a hint of pale skin above his pelvis, and he wore sturdy black motorcycle boots to top it off. 

Marinette dragged her eyes away from him before she found her hands in places that would make her late for—well—next week. The card was impossible to miss since it was half the size of a poster and she plucked it from within the blooms. A little gasp pulled from her lips as she took in the sight.

It was an elaborate comic-style drawing of herself and Alya at Le Chat Noir. They were conquering horned demons in sequined dresses that loomed at the foot of the stage. Alya wore a magnificent black bodysuit and a stunning butterfly mask trimmed with violet. Her words—‘How Dare You!’—transformed into jagged weapons before her. Behind Ayla’s ferocious shadow, Marinette stood like a powerful goddess. Her suit was red with black polka dots, standing protectively over a small fallen form that had red hair and a black sheet clutched to his chest.

“Is this…?” Marinette breathed out.

“Nathanaël is something of an artist,” Chat Noir supplied.

“Something?” Marinette repeated incredulously. “This is beautiful! I’m going to get it framed.”

Chat Noir smiled. "Nathanaël will be happy to hear that.”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” she said and turned to face him. “Why am I dressed like… a ladybug?”

“Ladybugs represent luck. Nathanaël says you’re his Lucky Charm,” Chat Noir explained.

Marinette stared down at the drawing, smiling brightly. “This is awesome,” she repeated. “Did he draw one for Alya?”

Chat Noir nodded. “Yup. I’m going to drop it off this morning, provided you give me her address.”

Marinette regarded him.

He raised his hands in supplication, drawing her attention to his naked palms and forearms. “I’m not a stalker,” he promised. “I figured you’d be more likely to give her address to me rather than a random delivery boy.”

“True,” Marinette said with a sigh. “Let me just give her a call and let her know to expect you. She’s a late sleeper.”

“It’s ten o’clock,” Chat Noir said dubiously.

“Alya won’t be up until noon at least,” Marinette said, “and you do not want to be responsible for waking her up on a Saturday. Trust me.”

Fetching her cell phone from the charger, Marinette held it in her hand for a moment. Chat Noir remained at her counter, his mask an inky smear against his pale skin and hair. She still knew so little about him and yet here he was in her apartment for the third time.

“Here’s the deal,” Marinette said before she could think better of it. “I’ll give you Alya’s address if you tell me your real name.”

Chat Noir didn’t look concerned or even surprised. “No dice,” he said evenly.

“Then I’m not telling you,” Marinette told him sternly.

His green eyes sparkled. In a voice that suggested he already knew he won, he asked, “Do you really want to deny your friend flowers and chocolates?”

Marinette sighed heavily in defeat. “If you’re a serial killer, I’m sending the police right after you.”

He had the grace not to point out that she had no idea who he was beneath his mask and suave exterior. 

“I know you own Le Chat Noir,” Marinette told him sharply. “Your name has to be on some of the paperwork or at least the deed. Just because the average person can’t get access to it, I’m sure the police will be able to.”

His eyes widened a fraction with surprise and then he grinned at her, “Touché.” 

Marinette took a piece of paper and scribbled Alya’s address on it. “Hopefully she’s home and didn’t spend the night anywhere.”

“She wouldn’t tell you?” Chat Noir asked.

Marinette shrugged. “It depends,” she said. “We don’t talk about absolutely everything. Sometimes, a relationship needs a little secrecy.” Even as she finished the words, she felt a flush slide down her spine. She became hyperaware of Chat Noir’s presence behind her. Even more so, she became aware of the scent of his cologne. She forced herself not to whirl around to face him, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“So,” Chat Noir said slowly. “You didn’t tell her about me?” There was a little hitch in his voice that Marinette couldn’t place.

“Of course not,” she bit out to save some dignity. “How would I explain it?”

He made a little sound of understanding and shifted. The sound of his clothing rustling made Marinette whirl around, prepared to ward him off with both hands. If he closed the space between them, she didn’t know if she’d be able to tell him no. Her body tingled with the memories of that one glorious night and she thought of how she admitted to Alya that it might have been Level Ten Sex. However, Chat Noir had simply straightened up against the counter. He slid a hand through his hair, a motion made easy by his lack of ears today.

“So, are you going to give me her address?” he asked. “Or do I have to wait until the next time you come to the club?”

Marinette handed him the piece of paper, careful not to touch his fingers. She didn’t need any fireworks right now. Those were very counterproductive to her situation.

“Thanks,” Chat Noir said once he skimmed the address. “I’ll drop the stuff off after noon.”

“You’re lucky I was home,” Marinette said. She slid past him, leading him to the door.

“I knew you’d be home,” Chat Noir said cheekily, “Working on your designs.”

Marinette beamed, thinking of the half-finished sketches she had all over the coffee table in the living room. Shah Maxi was giving her such a great opportunity and—hold up! She didn’t remember telling Chat Noir about the Fall Fashion line that she was getting to work on. She regarded him suspiciously.

“Something wrong?” Chat Noir asked. 

“How did you know I’d be working on designs?”

Chat Noir’s expression flickered before he grinned widely. “You told me about it at the club. It might be a little fuzzy for you because of all that celebratory tequila.”

Marinette’s eyes widened as she realized. “That was Alya!” she protested a little too loudly. “I like tequila!”

“Good to know,” Chat Noir said with a smirk that danced in his green eyes.

“Hey, you jerk!” Marinette shouted. One second, she was standing across the kitchen from him. The next, she had her fingers tangled in his soft dark t-shirt. The scent of his cologne was more subtle now and she was able to smell his skin and hair beneath it. Despite herself, she breathed in deeply.

Chat Noir’s chest vibrated with a quiet hum. “See something you like?” he purred.

Marinette’s suspicion and irritation washed away with that sound. Just because he had on a mask didn’t mean every little thing he did was something to examine beneath a microscope. He was just a person beneath that mask—a person who probably needed their career as the best stripper at Le Chat Noir to be a secret. He hadn’t done anything wrong and continued to do so many little things right…

“Marinette?” he murmured.

Jolted from her thoughts, she smoothed her fingers against his chest to get rid of the wrinkles her tight grip had made on his shirt. She looked up into his face, taking in his expression and trying to pretend the mask wasn’t there. He’s just a boy, she told herself. With that thought came the urge to kiss him, but this wasn’t a one night stand. Kissing him now, with all the lights on and the buttery sunlight beyond her curtains, would be something very different from kissing him in the throes of passion and want.

With a deep breath, Marinette uncurled her fingers from him and stepped away. “Sorry,” she muttered but didn’t really know what she was apologizing for.

Chat Noir stepped back a little and his chest seemed to rattle as he breathed. “Nathanaël’s going to try again Tuesday night when the crowd is minimal,” Chat Noir said slowly. “He’d like you and Alya to be there.” He left the words hanging in the air so as not to force her into a decision.

“Yeah,” Marinette answered, thinking of the poor young man crying backstage. She wanted to help, if she could. “I don’t know about Alya, but I’ll be there.”

“See you then,” Chat Noir said softly. “Enjoy the flowers and chocolates. I’ll tell Nathanaël you liked his drawing.”

Marinette nodded. She expected Chat Noir to kiss her cheek, her hand, her lips, but he left without doing any of those things. He closed the door softly behind himself as he departed, but his motorcycle boots made loud footsteps as he walked away down the hall. Marinette remained standing in the kitchen for a long time, smelling the perfume of the flowers as they mixed with the scent of Chat Noir.

…

Alya and Marinette arrived early on the Tuesday that was to be Nathanaël’s glorious return. In his honor, they each wore something red. For her part, Marinette donned a rich oxblood velvet dress that looked like it could catch fire when the light touched it and curled her dark hair away from her face. With Alya’s auburn hair, wearing red was a delicate process so Marinette lent her friend the red-and-black lace dress she had worn their very first night to the club. It wasn’t entirely Alya’s style, but tonight wasn’t about that. It was about supporting someone who had been hurt. 

It was slow when they entered Le Chat Noir and Max spotted them instantly. He waved them over to the bar. “Ladies,” he greeted. “You look ravishing. Here, some drinks.” He pushed two delicate pink cocktails in martini glasses towards them. “They’re Nathanaël’s favorite. I’ll let him know you’re here. Will you wait a moment?”

“Sure,” Alya said.

Max nodded gratefully, slipped through a door at the rear of the bar, and disappeared.

Alya took a sip of the pink drink and said, “It’s not too bad.”

Marinette sipped as well. She hadn’t planned on getting drunk tonight, but she supposed she could always stop at one.

A moment later, Max reappeared with Nathanaël. His red hair lay flat against his head and he looked considerably tired, but his face brightened when he saw them. Wearing a simple bathrobe over whatever costume he had on for the night, Nathanaël looked worlds different. 

“My heroes,” Nathanaël said by way of greeting. He stretched out his hands and they each clasped one.

“Knock them dead tonight, tiger,” Alya told him.

He smiled at her and it transformed his face.

Marinette wanted to ask him if he was okay after what happened, but she didn’t want to bring it up now when he was so happy. Instead, she told him, “Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates and the amazing drawing. You didn’t have to do all that.”

A little wrinkle furrowed Nathanaël’s brow. “Flowers? Chocolates?” he repeated. “But I didn’t—”

“Nathanaël,” Chat Noir interrupted. He appeared at Marinette’s elbow and leaned across the bar to whisper to Nathanaël. “Nino wants to know what song you want to dance to tonight. It’s your comeback so make sure it’s a good one.”

Nathanaël beamed at Marinette and Alya before leaning close enough to Chat Noir to secretively whisper his choice. 

“Excellent choice,” Chat Noir said to Nathanaël. He turned his attention briefly to Alya and Marinette, greeting them with a simple, “Ladies.” Then, he hustled off and disappeared backstage. 

“That was quick,” Alya remarked and took an indignant sip of her drink.

Marinette felt a little bubble of worry well up in her chest, but stamped it down so as not to give herself away to Alya. Was he avoiding her? 

Max chuckled and added, “He might not always look it, but he is the boss here. He has to work. Most of that is set up before performances so don’t hold it against him.”

“Understandable,” Alya put in.

Nathanaël squeezed their hands and then withdrew. “I have to get ready too. I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you so much for coming.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Marinette told him.

Glowing like one hundred suns, Nathanaël waved and vanished back through the door behind the bar.

“He’s one of the next acts,” Max said. “Grab a seat and enjoy the show.”

Marinette and Alya picked their way around a few people and found a table near the front of the stage. They sat down together and watched the strong dancer who had covered for Nathanaël twirl through an elaborate dance with the strips of cloth hanging from the ceiling. Marinette couldn’t even imagine the strength it took to perform like that. He saw Alya and Marinette and flashed them a wink.

“He’s hot,” Alya said.

Marinette rolled her eyes and took a sip of her cocktail. “You think everyone is hot,” she said. 

Alya rolled her shoulders and said, “It’s a beautiful world. There’s someone for everyone out there.”

He wrapped up his act and the strips of fabric were lifted back into the ceiling. Collecting the dollars that were strewn all over the stage, he looked like a great Broadway actor collecting roses. Blowing kisses to his audience, he disappeared backstage and the lights dimmed.

Nino’s voice came over the speakers. “And now, a performance for two very special ladies—you know who you are!” he shouted.

The music began and a single spotlight gleamed down on Nathanaël. He sauntered out, mouthing along to the slow sad words, “Made a wrong turn, once or twice. Dug my way out, blood and fire.” He wore a black brocade robe with gold embroidery around the throat, covering every inch of himself save his face. It trailed the stage behind him. He let the robe slip down from his shoulder and stretched his leg out the slit, baring a little hint of himself. Against the darkness, his skin glowed white. “Bad decisions? That’s alright. Welcome to my silly life.”

The beat picked up, slamming out like a heartbeat and Nathanaël threw off the robe with a flourish. His loose hair whipped around his head like colored smoke. “Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood.” He slashed his hands alongside his hips, rolling his body in time with each word. The beat pulsed through him, through his blood and soul. “Miss ‘No Way, It’s All Good.’ It didn’t slow me down. Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated—look! I’m still around.” 

His eyes caught on Marinette and Alya like glittering jewels. He grinned at them, shaping out P!nk’s words with his lips.

There was a breath of silence before the tempo rose into a scream. “Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel like you’re less than fucking perfect,” P!nk raged out to the world through Nathanaël. “Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you’re nothing. You’re fucking perfect to me!”

The words were poignant and sincere considering what had happened to him and why. To see him, dancing and singing on the very same stage, nearly brought tears to Marinette’s eyes. She glanced over at Alya to see her friend in much the same place. She reached for Alya’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. 

As the final bars of P!nk’s Perfect ended, Alya surreptitiously wiped her eyes. Nathanaël took a deep bow, practically glowing with pride. He had dollars in his briefs and everything was wonderful. He picked up the strewn robe and made eye contact with Marinette. He beamed and tipped his head a little.

Marinette nodded back, smiling. 

“That was…” Alya murmured.

“Fucking perfect,” Marinette said and took a sip of her drink. 

“And now, a man who needs no introduction,” Nino shouted over the speakers, “our very own, Chat Noir.”

Blasting through the curtains like a bomb going off, Chat Noir swept onto the stage. Marinette hadn’t really heard the eager screaming of everyone around her while Nathanaël danced. She had been too focused on him, on his comeback, on his magnificent return and the music he had chosen to accompany him. However, she was deafened by the uproar that surrounded Chat Noir. 

Rubbing her ear, Alya let out an annoyed “Wow.”

Marinette smiled at her friend and took another sip of her pink drink.

Nino hopped down from the DJ’s booth and picked his way behind the roaring girls. It was the first time Marinette had met him for longer than a brief glance and she took a moment to appraise him. His skin was the color of a caramel macchiato, his dark eyes twinkled behind glasses, and his close-cropped black hair was mostly hidden beneath a red cap. “I’m Nino, the DJ,” he said by way of introduction. “What are you two doing?”

Marinette wrinkled her brow. “Sitting.”

“Should we be doing something?” Alya asked.

“Yes,” Nino said exasperatedly. “Nathanaël wants you to meet him backstage. He was supposed to tell you.”

“He didn’t,” Marinette said, but his lingering look and tipped had made a little more sense now. She finished off her drink and set down the empty glass. 

Alya hopped to her feet and did the same. 

“This way, quick, quick,” Nino said. “I have to get back to the booth.” Nino ushered them up to the bar, waved to Max, and gave them a little finger wave goodbye. He scrambled back across the club and bounded into the booth in time to scratch the song and switch it to something with a faster beat.

“Just go ahead back,” Max told them. “I have to stay at the bar.”

Marinette and Alya shut the door behind them and found themselves plunged into a muffled kind of silence. They could still hear the music and feel the pulse of the base through the walls, but it sounded like it was taking place on another planet. They followed the narrow winding hallway until it opened up backstage. 

Nathanaël had pulled on his bathrobe again and greeted them enthusiastically. His pale skin glowed pink with pride. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d come back here,” he said. “Again, thank you so much for coming.”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep us away,” Alya said absently. Her focus was on the surroundings. 

Backstage wasn’t as glamorous as either of them had expected. Le Chat Noir was an old building and, though much of it had been remodeled, backstage still showed its roots. The bare brick façade was dark and looked a little dusty despite how clean and polished the hardwood floor was. The lights, structures that held the sheets for the performances, and other equipment were visible in the open ceiling. A bank of large lockers ran along one wall. Against another was a spread of well-lit mirrors, a large bathroom, and several ornate screens for changing behind. There was a rack of costumes on wheels, rolled into the middle of the space. Nathanaël’s recently-used brocade robe was draped over one end of it.

“Not what you expected?” Nathanaël asked.

Marinette and Alya shook their heads.

“Have a look around,” Nathanaël said with a wave of his hand. “I just wouldn’t go peeking behind any screens if I were you.”

Alya grinned excitedly and wandered away to open closets and snoop through the costumes. 

“Marinette,” Nathanaël said softly before she followed Alya. “Can we talk? Just for a moment?”

“Sure,” Marinette agreed.

Nathanaël led her aside, tucking them both around a corner where they weren’t exactly hidden but weren’t readily apparent either. He held her hand gingerly, took a deep breath, and asked, “Do you remember me?”

Marinette’s surprise showed on her face before she could stop it.

Nathanaël chuckled. “We went to high school together,” he explained and plucked at his crimson hair. “I had this dyed purple then. It went really terribly one day and I dyed half my forehead too.”

Marinette snorted half a laugh. “I do remember you,” she said brightly. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d use your real name here.”

“It’s a pretty safe place. Anyway,” Nathanaël said. “I wanted to talk to you because, well…”

Marinette squeezed his fingers reassuringly. 

“When we were in high school, I had a crush on you but I was still finding myself. I was still learning how to live with, well, myself,” Nathanaël explained lowly. “After you jumped up onto the stage to help me, I knew for sure. Marinette, I like you. Would you… would you like to go out sometime?”

“Oh, Nathanaël,” Marinette murmured. She bit her lip, thinking, and twined her fingers in the hem of her dress. “You’re a wonderful person and your art is beautiful, but…”

Nathanaël’s expression cracked like a china plate, though he tried to hide it behind a smile.

Marinette had to tell him the truth. She owed him that much—especially since she wanted to be certain he knew she wasn’t turning him down because of what he did or didn’t have between his legs. “Ah, can you keep a secret?” she murmured.

Puzzled by her sudden change in tone, Nathanaël could only nod.

“I think I’m… I’m interested in Chat Noir,” Marinette said finally.

Nathanaël’s eyes grew soft at the edges and he smiled earnestly. “Marinette, that’s… that’s wonderful. I understand,” he said. “Chat Noir is such a good person.”

“You know him well?” Marinette asked and untwisted her fingers from the edge of her dress in relief. 

“I only know him at the club,” Nathanaël said with a shake of his head. “None of us know him outside of the club. He always keeps his mask on. I think his family is rough, you know. I don’t think they like him having the club so he just keeps who he is a secret.”

Marinette swallowed, her throat dry.

“But,” Nathanaël said softly, “when we’re closing up at night, I see him sometimes.” He tipped his chin towards the wall of mirrored vanities where Alya was examining a book. “He stands there and he just looks like his heart is breaking.” He put his hand on Marinette’s shoulder and squeezed warmly. “You could be good for him, Marinette.”

Marinette wanted to protest, but the uproar of the club suddenly became louder and then muffled again. 

“Chat Noir’s set is over,” Nathanaël said with a smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks,” Marinette whispered.

They emerged from the corner and crossed the space to Alya. Chat Noir came around the bend in the hallway at the same time. He had his leather tear-away pants thrown over his arm, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and his golden bell jingling at his throat. There was a ridiculous amount of money tucked all around the edges of his g-string. Setting his clothes on the vanity, he began organizing the bills into a neat stack.

“Good show?” Nathanaël asked Chat Noir.

“Not as good as yours,” Chat Noir said. He folded the crumpled bills in half and put them in Nathanaël’s hand. 

“Chat, no. I can’t—”

“Quiet,” Chat Noir interrupted. “I’m the boss so I can do whatever I want. Accept it.”

“Do those bills just go right back out in circulation?” Alya asked with a wrinkle in the corner of her nose.

Chat Noir winked at her. 

“Oh, gross,” Alya remarked.

Nathanaël grinned at her. “All the money in the world has been in someone’s privates at one time or another,” he said. 

…

Nathanaël had a few other dances that night, each better than the last as he came out of his shell. Alya and Marinette stayed in the front row, sipping pink cocktails and watching happily. It was after midnight when Alya yawned despite herself and surrendered.

“We should think about heading home,” Alya muttered. “We have to work tomorrow.” 

Marinette didn’t even want to think about work tomorrow. She knew she was going to regret staying out this late and going for a third cocktail. The thought of Shah Maxi’s excited voice and the approaching Fall Fashion Show loomed over Marinette’s head like twin storm clouds. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Let’s just say a quick goodbye to Nathanaël.”

Alya groaned as she got to her feet. 

They gathered up their empty glasses and picked through the crowd towards the bar. Slipping the empty martini glasses to Max, he lifted the hatch in the surface of the bar so they could come behind. Disappearing backstage, they were grateful for the peace and quiet. Their heels click-clicked on the hardwood floor.

Nathanaël looked up from the vanity mirror when they entered. “You both look so tired,” he said cheerfully.

“We have day jobs,” Marinette told him.

“And we’re going to regret staying this late tomorrow morning so we’re heading out,” Alya explained.

Nathanaël nodded with understanding and crossed to them. He pulled Alya into a hug and she thumped him heartily on the back. Then, he turned to embrace Marinette. “Thank you so much for coming,” he said. 

“No problem,” Marinette said into his shoulder. “We’ll be back.”

Nathanaël grinned.

Alya stretched her arms over her head. “Alright, chop chop,” she said to Marinette, turned on her heel, and marched back down the hallway. 

Marinette patted Nathanaël’s shoulder. “You were great tonight,” she said instead of goodbye.

He waved as Marinette hastened after Alya. 

Marinette pulled open the door leading into the bar the same time Chat Noir opened it and stepped into the hallway. She stumbled back, catching herself against the wall when her heels tripped her up. He reached to steady her, his rough palm cupping her elbow. 

“Sorry,” Chat Noir said. “I didn’t know you were still here. Max said he saw Alya go outside.”

“She probably went to warm up the car,” Marinette said. “We were just leaving.”

After what she and Chat Noir had done together, she half-expected talking to him to be awkward. When it hadn’t been earlier, she chocked it up to them not being alone and having Nathanaël and Alya to break the tension. However, as she stood alone with him in the hallway, the heat rolling off his half-naked body in waves, she braced for the awkwardness, but it never quite came. 

Chat Noir studied her, gauging her reaction and her expression. “Something wrong?”

She shrugged one shoulder. 

If Chat Noir suspected her thoughts, he didn’t speak them or question further. Instead, still holding her elbow, he said, “Thanks again for coming to see Nathanaël. There aren’t a lot of people who would get involved with someone in this kind of work.” Almost absently, his thumb moved against her skin.

“Is that why you keep your mask on?” Marinette asked.

His green eyes slid over her like a physical touch. 

“Chat,” she said before she could stop herself. “Listen, I’d like to get to know you better and maybe—”

He put a finger to her lips, halting her words. “Marinette,” he said. His voice had a smooth sort of hardness to it, like marble that had been laid out and polished to a practiced shine. “Outside of this club, Chat Noir doesn’t exist.”

Marinette wanted to tell him that she had taken Chat Noir home, that he existed in her apartment, but his finger was still pressed to her lips. 

“Okay?” he asked. His thumb moved across her elbow again in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite aware of it.

Marinette shook her head to dislodge the pressure on her lips, about to protest, when another thought occurred to her. There was no denying that Chat Noir was gorgeous, that he was probably propositioned by horny girls every night, that he had probably said these same words to so many other beautiful women. Marinette almost believed that, almost knocked his hand aside and stormed away, but he drew his thumb over her skin. 

That touch… it was just too gentle.

His tenderness made her suddenly sad. She abruptly thought of Chloé, a girl with everything and yet nothing in the world. Chat Noir reminded her of that—of someone so suave and handsome, yet forced to hide everything about himself. “So,” she whispered. “You’re never going to let anyone get close?”

He breathed out slowly, as though reading her mind. “Le Chat Noir is too important to me. It’s too important to risk.”

“Alright,” Marinette relented.

A wry little smile pulled at his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said tenderly, “if I made you think—”

“You didn’t,” Marinette said because that was the truth. When she brought him home with her, she had wanted a one-night stand and that was what she had gotten. Just because she continued to see him wasn’t anyone’s fault. Even now, she didn’t expect him to kiss her senseless or make pretty promises. She had gotten what she wanted that night and it had been Level Nine going on Level Ten. “This isn’t about what we did, even though it was great. I’d like to know you better because you seem like a good person.” 

Chat Noir looked surprised, whether by her words themselves or by her admission, she wasn’t sure.

“I won’t say that I understand,” she said, “Because I don’t. I don’t know what would make anyone other than a superhero wear a mask, but I respect your choice. If you say Chat Noir doesn’t exist outside the club, then I won’t push you.” Marinette lifted her blue eyes to his face, smiling faintly. 

Chat Noir looked pale behind his black mask, but that might have just been the light. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Marinette said briskly. “Anyone with a brain inside their skull can see how much you care about this club and the people who work here. Even if you’re just a creep who wears a mask, you’re still… probably a good person under there.”

Chat Noir’s expression flickered. His palm was warm on her elbow, thumb brushing again absently. The bare skin of his chest glistened. For the first time, with the way the light fell over him, Marinette realized she could see the curve of his ribcage. He was slender, not much taller than she was, and she thought of what Nathanaël said about how he looked like his heart was breaking. Whoever Chat Noir was beneath the mask…

Marinette tugged her elbow from his grasp.

His eyes widened a fraction, puzzled that he had still been holding her. 

“Have a nice night, Chat Noir,” Marinette said gently. “I’ll see you next time.”

She slipped past him, out the door, and into the night. Alya had pulled the car up by the front door.

Marinette kicked open the passenger side door and poured herself in. 

“What took you so long?” Alya asked as Le Chat Noir diminished in the rearview mirror.

“I was talking to Chat Noir,” Marinette said. 

Alya eyed her. “Oh?”

“I tried to ask him to come out for drinks or something, but you were right, Alya. He’s not just going to take off that mask of his and meet me for lunch,” Marinette muttered a little bitterly.

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Alya said. Marinette could practically hear the gears turning in her friend’s head as she tried to decide what they might be.

“I’m sure he does too,” Marinette said. 

She didn’t tell Alya about Chat Noir being his freedom, about how sad he had looked when he told her Chat Noir didn’t exist outside the club, about what Nathanaël had said. She wanted to vow to herself that she would figure him out, but she meant what she told him. She respected his choices. Yet how could she pursue him knowing that? Whatever she was beginning to feel for him, whatever desires she had for the man in and beneath the mask, she couldn’t act on it.

X X X

You know, I was expecting at least three freak-outs from people in the last chapter about Nathanaël’s difficulties with gender, but everyone handled it with grace.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	7. "You Can Put Me Down."

Man, the support for this story continues to blow me away.

X X X

Regardless of how late she had come home from Le Chat Noir on Tuesday, Marinette couldn’t fall asleep. She brewed a cup of chamomile tea, took a shower, tried to convince herself that her bed was a cloud, and then tried to bribe herself with donuts for breakfast. Still, she lay awake staring at the cracking ceiling of her bedroom. Around three AM, she resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to sleep and that tomorrow would just suck. 

She blamed it on the smell of Chat Noir’s cologne still lingering on her skin despite her shower, the feeling of his warm fingers brushing her elbow, and the memory of his jade eyes flickering behind his black mask. She turned on the television to a late-night infomercial about ways to easily chop things and sat down on the couch with her tea. She doodled mindlessly as she watched.

First came a dress the same butter-yellow as her tea. She sketched it light and summery with gold embroidered flowers so fine they were practically invisible. She wrote a small note to make it out of a nice sheer fabric. She sketched it again, adding ruffles and white flowers. She added a wide brimmed straw hat with a big sunflower, with a white bow, with a simple yellow ribbon. 

A blue coat trimmed with gold and decked with two rows of shining buttons followed. Captain of a fabulous ship, she thought as she scalloped the collar. She drew a captain’s hat beside it, adding a feather and then drawing it again without the feather. She sketched out thigh-high black boots and tan shorts. A bag that was ridiculously shaped like a sword tagged along and she crossed it out.

She scribbled out a few raincoats with elaborate poncho-style draping around the shoulders, with deep hoods, with long sides like dresses. She drew hats and scarves, childish mittens that could be transformed into badass fingerless gloves. She colored in umbrellas and then caught herself adding puddles. Turning her attention from the rain, slowly but surely, her doodles took a direction. 

The Fall Fashion Show loomed overhead. 

Despite being alone in her apartment, she could almost feel Shah Maxi’s excitement, eagerness, and delight. Most of all, Marinette could feel the pressure. Shah Maxi thought she had talent and she didn’t want to let her new mentor down. Abruptly, she thought of Adrien Agreste asking her to make sure she designed something great for him to wear. If Gabriel Agreste’s son came to like her designs, she knew that was better than having ten of Shah Maxi in her corner.

Dragging her hand over her tired face, Marinette continued to draw and design. She sketched out baggy cable-knit sweaters, leggings with new patterns, and scarves with tiny sequins. She added boots and hats, wool coats and mittens. Thinking of Alya, she filled in some flannel and plaid. Pleated skirts followed, layered with blouses and vests. She curled embroidery wherever she could, sketched in delicate feathers and elaborate curls of jewels like vintage broaches. 

The infomercial wound down, continuously replaying its phone number and fantastic deal.

With her teacup empty and dawn breaking on the horizon, Marinette shuffled all her papers into a neat pile. She closed up her sketchbook with her favorite designs of the night, dragged herself into the shower, and stood beneath the spray until she felt almost human. Dressing in the first clothes she found, she shrugged into her jacket, collected her bike, and headed out into the ungodly-early buttery-bright morning. She stopped off for donuts and awkwardly balanced the box across her handlebars, bear claw hanging out of her mouth for encouragement. 

When she arrived at Agreste Fashion, she was grateful to see that someone had brewed a pot of coffee in the break room. Pouring herself an overlarge cup to get through the day, she slumped over to Shah Maxi and opened the box of donuts like she was revealing the Holy Grail.

“Gosh, Marinette,” Shah Maxi remarked. “You look terrible. Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Marinette muttered as she shuffled through her shoulder bag. 

“I hope it was worth it,” Shah Maxi said.

“It wasn’t,” Marinette grumbled. She spread her designs across her little corner of Shah Maxi’s desk with a sigh. 

“Oooh, what is that?” Shah Maxi squealed. She selected a page seemingly at random and held it up. “This is just adorable!”

Marinette peered at the page and, like an electric shock, the sight nearly woke her completely. In her delirium the night before, she had drawn a hat. It would have been a perfectly nice hat if not for the fact that Chat Noir’s cologne still lingered in her senses. It had pointed cat ears and a style that could be pulled down over the face like a mask. 

“Oh, that,” Marinette fumbled. “That… it’s nothing.”

Shah Maxi held it in front of her face as though envisioning wearing it. “It’s adorable!” she repeated. “No matter what, I am definitely adding this to the Fall Lineup.”

“But—”

Shah Maxi clucked her tongue. “Don’t even,” she said sternly. “Just say ‘Thank You.’ Actually, don’t even say that. You shouldn’t have to thank anyone. Instead, I’ll thank you. Thank you, Marinette.” Just like that, the whirlwind that was Shah Maxi was already speeding away, chattering eagerly about the timeline between now and the Fall Fashion show. It was all out of Marinette’s hands. “Let me see what else you designed,” Shah Maxi said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Marinette pushed her sketchpad towards Shah Maxi, including all the loose pages of designs she didn’t like as much. She selected another donut, had a few more sips of coffee, and began to catch Shah Maxi’s roaring energy. In a few minutes, she hardly regretted her inability to sleep the night before. However, she did regret not having realized that the fashion show would take place in early September so that the line could hit the shelves in time for the season. It was already July and she knew time flew when you were designing.

…

In the month that followed, Marinette didn’t have much time to go out. She spent her every waking moment designing alongside Shah Maxi, putting clothes together, making adjustments, and preparing for the show. When she wasn’t at Agreste Fashions, she worked her other job at the café. When she wasn’t at the café, she did her best to sleep and eat as regularly as possible.

“Girl,” Alya whined into Marinette’s ear over the phone. 

Thoroughly exhausted, Marinette stretched out on her couch. She was too tired to even hold her phone and just let it lay flat on the side of her face as she popped dry cereal into her mouth.

“I’ve hardly seen you at all,” Alya continued. “Half your face might have fallen off and I wouldn’t even know. You have to come out tonight. It’s Friday night for heaven’s sake!”

“I swear my face is still intact. I’m just too tired, Alya,” Marinette told her friend.

“Tired, smired,” Alya complained. “Come on, Marinette. You only live once.”

Marinette didn’t answer, but sighed loud enough for Alya to hear.

“Come on, please,” Alya whined. “We can go wherever you want. We can see a movie, we can go to Le Chat Noir, we can eat greasy Chinese in front of the Eiffel Tower. Come on, take pity on your poor friend who hasn’t seen you in weeks!”

“Alya,” Marinette groaned. “You came by the café five days ago. We had dinner together.”

“You were working, you were busy, you were half-asleep,” she dished out quickly. “It doesn’t count.”

“I’m half-asleep now.”

“Please,” Alya wheedled. 

“Fine,” Marinette relented. “But I’m wearing my comfortable boots and I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

“Awesome! I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes!” Alya hung up before Marinette could protest.

Groaning, Marinette heaved herself into a sitting position and looked down at all the Band-Aids on her fingers. She got to her feet, trudged to her room, and got dressed as comfortably yet nicely as she could. She put on a simple circle skirt with a colorful detailed pattern and a loose black sweater. She tugged on some thigh-high stockings and her favorite boots to top it off. Alya was right, of course. Marinette was drowning in her work. She needed a break—even if it was just a little one. 

Her phone chirped with a message from Alya. ‘I’m in the parking lot. Meter’s running.’

Marinette found her purse, shoveled some power bars into it since she hadn’t finished her cereal, and locked up. She kicked open Alya’s car door and plopped in the passenger seat. Alya held out a delicious caramel frappuccino piled with whipped cream as a peace offering and Marinette drank gratefully. After a few minutes of chatting with Alya about her designs and drinking coffee, she felt significantly better. It was Friday night. She could sleep late tomorrow. Yeah, she needed this and she deserved it.

Le Chat Noir was packed to the gills when they arrived. Alya had to take a few laps around the parking lot to find a space. Linking arms with Marinette, they walked up to the front door. Kim waved to them and opened the door. Music and lights pulsed inside. Marinette didn’t recognize the dancer on the stage, but Max was behind the bar. Alya waved a greeting to him. Towing Marinette through the crowd, Alya positioned her in front of the stage.

“I’ll get some drinks,” Alya shouted into Marinette’s ear.

“Keep it under control,” Marinette shouted back. “If I get too drunk, I’ll fall asleep on my feet.”

Alya nodded and hustled off towards the bar. 

Marinette focused on the show before her. The song changed, pulsing with a siren as three firemen filed out onto the stage. ‘It’s Getting Hot in Here’ suited the display just perfectly. The lead fireman was the strong dancer who had rescued Nathanaël. He had on a nametag that read ‘Ivan’ and though Marinette didn’t know if it was his real name, it was better than just thinking of him as ‘the guy who saved Nathanaël.’ She waved to him and he winked, gripping the pole with the bend of his knee so that he could lean down towards her.

“Mon chéri,” he said by way of greeting.

Marinette didn’t have any cash and she didn’t think he’d fancy a power bar down his bright red briefs so she only smiled.

Alya passed Marinette a frozen margarita as soon as he pulled himself back onto the pole. “Girl, maybe you should just date this whole club,” Alya said appreciatively.

Marinette took a grateful sip of the cold tequila-laced lime slush. “As if,” she said. “I barely have the energy to date you right now, never mind an entire strip club.”

“I know I’m high maintenance,” Alya said dismissively, “but I can’t help it.”

Marinette took a longer drink, letting the tequila warm her even as the frozen drink chilled her. Between it and the coffee, she finally felt like she was coming to life. She’d been working too hard, but this fashion show was her big chance to impress Shah Maxi and Adrien Agreste and, by extension, Gabriel Agreste as well.

As though reading her mind, Alya said, “One night won’t kill you.”

Marinette drank again, glowering at Alya over the lime on the rim of her glass.

They stood together at the edge of the stage for several sets of dances. Alya used up all her singles, but Marinette was content just to watch. She had never really watched Alya flirt before and it was interesting to say the least. Alya was just so forward. Maybe Marinette could take a few things away from her.

Once a table cleared of giggling bachelorettes, Marinette and Alya sat down. Marinette put down her frozen drink and gratefully rubbed her cold hands together. Her stomach grumbled quietly and she wished she had taken the time to finish her cereal before leaving with Alya. If the hunger got too unbearable, she had plenty of power bars to hold herself over.

“So,” Marinette began conversationally. “Do you realize you flirt like you have one night to live?”

Alya snorted. “What’s the alternative? I flirt like you?”

Marinette flushed despite herself.

Alya put a fingertip to her mouth. “Though all that stammering and flushing did get you Rolf, so you can’t be that bad.”

“I hate you,” Marinette said.

“You love me,” Alya said without care. “Do you want another margarita?”

“Are you driving tonight?”

“Yup.”

“I’m good,” Marinette said. “I’m still worried I’ll fall asleep.”

“Girl, live a little.”

“I’ll take something with caffeine in it,” Marinette said.

Alya took the two empty glasses and headed for the bar. 

Marinette watched the dancers, including Ivan and Nathanaël gather their money and disappear backstage. There was a pause, some upbeat music playing to fill the silence. One of the girls began to chant, “Chat Noir, Chat Noir, Chat Noir,” and soon the entire club throbbed with the beat of his name. Marinette craned her neck to see into the DJ’s booth. Kim and Nino had their heads together, whispering but Nino kept shaking his head, ‘No.’ She wondered what was up.

“Sorry, ladies and gents,” Nino declared finally. “Chat Noir has to do some actual work tonight. But please, enjoy our next performance.”

Alya returned to the table and handed Marinette a mug of something steamy. “What? No Chat Noir tonight?” she asked. “I just saw him behind the bar with Max.”

Marinette took a sip of espresso and sighed. “Running a club like this probably isn’t all fun and games and striptease.” 

Alya nodded, focusing as Ivan sauntered out onto the stage, his muscles flexing beneath the spotlight. 

Marinette rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless, Alya.” 

“What? So I decided to bat for the home team again. There’s no crime in that!”

“Somehow I think Rose might not feel the same way,” Marinette said.

Alya lifted a brow. “I didn’t tell you? Rose and I broke up weeks ago. She wanted to go after Juleka anyway.”

Marinette’s mouth hung open as she tried to picture pretty-in-pink Rose going out with tough-as-nails Juleka. “Seriously?”

“See how much I haven’t seen you?” Alya demanded dramatically. “You don’t know anything about me anymore!”

Marinette rolled her eyes at her friend’s antics. “I’m going to run to the bathroom. Don’t hook up with anyone while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

Marinette was grateful for the quiet once the bathroom door closed behind her. She didn’t particularly have to go, but she wanted to take a breather and try to wake up a little. She was beginning to hit a slump now that midnight approached. The last thing she wanted was to fall asleep at Le Chat Noir—again.

Marinette splashed some cool water on her face and neck, patted her skin dry, and then stared at her reflection. Gosh, she did look terrible, she thought as she traced the dark circles underneath her eyes. She wondered if she really looked that bad or if the bright lighting in the bathroom just made her look twice as exhausted. She needed a snack. A snack would make everything better and she had just the ticket in her purse. Snapping it open, she rummaged amidst the power bars for her favorite flavor as she stepped out into the hallway. 

Her elbow knocked into someone and she muttered, “Sorry.”

Nestled securely between the two bathroom doors was the door that led backstage. Chat Noir leaned against it, his forehead pressed against the door. He wore a plain black t-shirt that hugged his narrow shoulders and simple black pants. His breath came in shaky little gasps. One bare hand curled against the door for support while the other wrapped around the knob, fingers trembling minutely. 

“Chat?” she asked.

He didn’t respond.

Marinette put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice was small but hard.

“Chat?” Marinette tugged gently, pulling him away from the door.

He wobbled on his feet, putting his hand out to steady himself against the wall. His skin had always looked pale compared to his inky mask, but now his complexion was downright chalky. His green eyes flashed over her and then settled on some invisible point at her neck. He wriggled out from beneath her hand, leaning hard on the wall as he breathed unsteadily.

“I just… I just need to sit down,” he whispered.

Marinette opened the door to backstage, hooked her arm around him, and towed him out of the corridor. Quiet engulfed them once the door shut. There were a few dancers milling backstage between sets, changing their costumes or counting out money. 

Nathanaël hustled over as soon as he saw them. “Marinette, it’s so good to see you,” he said excitedly. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Is something wrong?”

“Chat Noir needs to sit down for a few minutes,” Marinette explained as best she could.

“This way,” Nathanaël said briskly and beckoned Marinette to follow him. “This is Chat Noir’s room.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said. “Can you bring me some water?”

Nathanaël nodded and closed the door.

Marinette eased Chat Noir down on the sofa and looked around briefly. The space reminded her of her apartment, shabby and small yet comfortable. There were magazines for Agreste Fashion on the stained coffee table, his jacket was thrown over the back of a chair along with a canvas rucksack, and his laptop had gone to screen saver. 

Marinette sat down beside Chat Noir and examined him critically. He slumped into the cushions, braced against the arm of the sofa as though it was all that held him up. He had his eyes closed and his breath rattled in his chest. Marinette put her hand to his forehead, wondering if he was sick, but his skin was cool. 

He batted her hand away. “I’m fine,” he protested.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, but a shiver wracked him. 

Marinette picked his jacket off the back of his chair and tucked it around his shoulders. 

He regarded her, eyes like acid-green slits behind his mask.

There was a rap on the door and Nathanaël opened it. “Here, water,” he said and handed Marinette a bottle. 

Chat Noir turned away from Nathanaël, curling into his leather jacket.

“Has he been sick?” Marinette asked.

“He’s been under the weather for a few weeks,” Nathanaël said.

“Weeks?” Marinette repeated with concern.

Nathanaël nodded, his worry deeper and more severe than her own. “We’ve been trying to get him to take some time off, but—”

“Out,” Chat Noir growled.

Nathanaël looked like he wanted to say more to Marinette, but he didn’t. “I have to go on in a few. Let me know if you need anything.”

Marinette thanked him as he closed the door. 

Uncapping the water bottle, Marinette held it out to Chat Noir. “Here, drink,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he ground out.

Marinette pushed her finger into his ribs.

He made a brittle sound and turned over to glare at her.

She pressed the bottle to his lips. “Drink,” she said sternly. “Don’t act like a brat.”

“I’m fine,” he said again. His green eyes were too bright, almost feverish.

“Drink,” Marinette repeated.

Chat Noir ventured a hand out from beneath his jacket. His fingers were cold as he gripped the bottle and tipped it against his lips. He took a sip and then gulped desperately. Marinette pulled the water from him before he could finish so that he didn’t make himself sick. She slipped her hand beneath his thick blonde tresses again to feel his forehead. Though slightly warmer than her cool hands, his temperature felt normal. 

“Have you been feeling okay?” she asked again.

“I’m fine,” he said. 

Marinette sighed and leaned back into the cushions. Alya was probably wondering where she was, but she couldn’t leave Chat Noir like this. He looked about to faint at the slightest provocation. That reminded her, she was still hungry. Opening her purse, she dumped everything into her lap and pawed around for her favorite flavor of power bar. Chat Noir stared at her, stricken, as she shoveled everything back inside. 

She glanced up. “Would you like one? As you can see, I definitely have enough to go around.”

“I’m fine,” he told her sharply.

Some people were weird when they didn’t feel one hundred percent, Marinette thought with a roll of her eyes. Tearing the wrapper, she took a bite and chewed slowly.

Chat Noir made a strangled sound.

Marinette glanced at him. “You’re sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m fine.”

Marinette chose a power bar at random from her purse, unwrapped it, and held it out to him. “You’re being a brat. Eat it and you’ll probably feel better. It’s full of all kinds of good stuff,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

Marinette continued to hold it out without looking at him, nibbling along one side of her power bar to make it last longer. 

Finally, with a shaking hand, Chat Noir plucked the power bar from her. She half-expected him to eat it as slowly as he had been to take it, but he practically inhaled it. Coughing, he finished the rest of the water and then stared at his hands.

“Feel a little better?” Marinette asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you have anything else to say?” she asked a little irritably. 

Chat Noir didn’t answer, not even to tell her that he was fine for what felt like the millionth time.

Marinette leaned into the cushions, snuggling a little deeper. Despite its hideous mustard color, it was outrageously comfortable and she was still so tired. Maybe she could close her eyes for just a few minutes. Chat Noir remained curled inside his jacket beside her, unmoving save for the little shivers that rattled through him. Unable to bear feeling the couch vibrate as he trembled, Marinette scooted over and leaned into him. He smelled wonderful and he didn’t protest as she settled her head against the curve of his back. He was warm and Marinette was comfortable. 

Just a few minutes, she told herself, I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.

…

Marinette woke to Alya cursing quietly. Groaning, she opened her eyes and studied the familiar stairwell leading up to her apartment. Alya carried her piggyback-style, Marinette’s arms draped over her shoulders and her face buried in her hair. Startled, Marinette grasped Alya’s shoulders and straightened up.

“Oh, is Sleeping Beauty awake?” Alya asked.

“Maybe,” Marinette mumbled drowsily. “What time is it?”

“Almost one AM.”

“You can put me down,” Marinette said.

Alya stopped on the landing and lowered Marinette to the floor. 

Marinette patted herself over, checking her purse and her pockets and abruptly wishing she hadn’t worn a skirt. How many people had seen her panties while Alya carried her around like a sack of potatoes? “What happened?”

“You went to the bathroom and never came back. I went to look for you and it turns out you were backstage taking a nap with Chat Noir,” Alya said. “You know, if you were that tired, you could have said something. I would have taken you home sooner. You’re no fun to carry, you know.”

Marinette chose not to point out that she had tried to get Alya to leave her at home and had insisted she was beyond tired. “Well, thanks for getting me home safely,” she said and then added, “Chat Noir… was he okay?”

“He seemed a little out of it,” Alya said. “He’s probably coming down with a cold. It’s that time of year. Half my office is catching the sniffles and sneezes.”

Marinette nodded.

“Come on,” Alya said and put her hand in the small of Marinette’s back. “You look like you’re going to drop any minute. Let me get you to your apartment. I don’t want it on my head if you fall asleep outside your door and get kidnapped.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said.

Alya led her up the three flights of stairs. Marinette’s eyes were drooping again by the time they reached it. Alya fished Marinette’s keys out of the mess of power bars with a roll of her eyes, unlocked the door, and steered Marinette inside. She deposited her friend in her bed, removed Marinette’s boots, and pulled the heavy patchwork quilt over her. 

“Goodnight,” Alya said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks Alya,” Marinette mumbled sleepily.

…

The massive studio that Shah Maxi shared with all the other designers getting ready for the Fall Fashion Show was something out of Marinette’s dreams. There were forms all over, draped with exquisite finery or casual fabric in all stages of completion. She entered early Monday morning with both arms wrapped around a box.

“Marinette!” Shah Maxi shouted over the din of so many people working hastily. It was the final push before the show in September. Everything had to be prepared by the end of the week so that Gabriel Agreste could approve it and there was still time to make changes before the show itself. “Here! Over here!”

Marinette slipped between two other designers, stepped over the gargantuan train of a fabulous wedding gown, and skidded beside Shah Maxi. “This is—”

“Go ahead, have a minute of awe. I remember my first time,” Shah Maxi said.

Marinette set down the box and took advantage, looking around at everything. Shah Maxi and the other designers worked independently of interns like Marinette until this stage when it was all-hands-on-deck. For her part, Marinette had been making some of the things Shah Maxi had chosen at home. She had them tucked in the box, including the cat hat.

“Finished?” Shah Maxi asked.

Marinette swallowed and nodded.

“Good, because we have work beyond your wildest dreams,” Shah Maxi said quickly. “I’m going to need you to give me a full one hundred percent.”

“I’m ready,” Marinette said earnestly.

Shah Maxi grinned. “Alright, Marinette. Let’s get busy.”

Marinette pulled open the folded cardboard flaps and pulled out everything Shah Maxi had approved. Some of them weren’t quite finished, but Marinette didn’t feel so bad about that now that she saw how far along professional designers with only one job were. Shah Maxi pulled each item out alongside her, cooing and critiquing. She found a few loose stitches and a few crooked hems, but that was all.

“Stupendous,” Shah Maxi said. She found the cat hat and grinned widely as she pulled it down over her flame-red hair. “I’m not going to lie. I thought we’d have some fixing to do, but your work is almost Agreste-quality standards.”

Marinette blushed with pride. “Thank you.”

“This is even better,” Shah Maxi said eagerly. “You can help me finish up everything we need to finish. I’ll make sure Gabriel Agreste knows what you’re capable of.”

“Thank you so—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Shah Maxi interrupted. “I’m going to work you like a dog for the rest of the week. We have so much to do.”

“I can handle it,” Marinette promised. 

“I know you can,” Shah Maxi said and draped scarves all over her head and shoulders. She made her way to a lineup of forms and began laying things out. 

Marinette followed. It took her a few moments to recognize the designs she had Shah Maxi had collaborated on and figure out how the layout was planned, but once she got her feet underneath her, she vaulted into the work with everything she had. She cut little slits through the stitched buttonholes, she mended zippers, she paired shoes at the bases of each form. 

When Shah Maxi began to drown in designs, Marinette pinned them together so she could sew quicker. Marinette trimmed seams and tied off the ends. She sat down with a plain suit coat and embroidered colored leaves around the collar. She delved into the basket of buttons until she found one to complement the bust of a casual dress.

Marinette barely had time to sleep and eat and do laundry, never mind talk to Alya. She had to beg a coworker to cover all her shifts at the café so she could dedicate her time to the fashion show preparations. She ran out of Band-Aids for her pricked fingers and tried to be more careful. 

Shah Maxi flew around their assignments like a magpie with too many shiny choices. She put things together in an expert yet slapdash way, stopping in the middle of sewing a dress to choose a shirt to go beneath a suit or to find a donut to eat while she bent over her sewing machine. It wasn’t easy for Marinette to keep up with her whirlwind, but she certainly tried her best. 

But as the week went on, Marinette realized she had everything under control. She could almost keep up with Shah Maxi and there was light at the end of their tunnel. All of their designs were in the finishing stages by Wednesday while all the other designers lagged behind.

“It’s because I have you,” Shah Maxi said over a break for a snack. “I’m usually scrambling at this point, but it’s amazing how an extra pair of hands can help.” Here, she took Marinette’s hand and examined all the little pinpricks and cuts. “Although, you must be a little more careful. I don’t like seeing anyone hurt.”

“Thanks, Shah Maxi,” Marinette said gratefully. She cast her eyes at the other designers. “Should we try to help them?”

“I will,” Shah Maxi said, “but I don’t think you should. Too many people in this business with do whatever they can to shirk the blame. If you help them and Gabriel Agreste doesn’t like it, they might try to blame it on you. You’re too talented to deal with all that nonsense.”

Marinette looked around at all the designers. They had been so nice to her that she had a hard time believing they would do something like that. 

As though reading her mind, Shah Maxi pressed a finger to the tip of Marinette’s nose. “You know it can be true,” she said. “Remember how this all got started? That Chloé Bourgeois stole your winning design and tried to pass it off as her own.”

Marinette wanted to protest, but she couldn’t defend Chloé’s decision to do something so underhanded. 

“You’re just lucky you somehow got called up to that photo shoot,” Shah Maxi said, “and managed to reveal her treachery.”

Marinette pressed her lips into a line, thinking back to that day. It had opened so many doors for her that she couldn’t see it in a dark light, but she knew Shah Maxi was right. She would have to be more careful. “Alright,” she relented. “But… would they do that to you?”

“Pah,” Shah Maxi said dismissively. “They could try. I am bulletproof.”

Marinette smiled, finished her snack, and dove back into the final additions of embroidery on a casual winter dress. 

Before she knew it, the final two days of the week had sped by, but their designs were perfect. In fact, everything was finished and fabulous in time for Gabriel Agreste’s approval on Monday. The Fall Fashion Show bordered on the horizon like an impending sunrise after days of rain. 

Shah Maxi let out a delighted cheer as she left with Marinette Friday afternoon. “We should celebrate,” she announced.

“That would be nice,” Marinette agreed. 

“I know you usually go to Le Chat Noir, but…” Shah Maxi leaned close, whispering secretively, “But I have my kids this weekend. I can’t take them to a strip club.”

Marinette laughed. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “My friend Alya has about a million siblings, all younger than she is. When we used to have to go out with them, we always went to this great park. Ah, I forget what it’s called, but it has a carousel.”

Shah Maxi snapped her fingers. “I know the place. There’s a great little café nearby, too.”

“Should we meet at the café?”

“Sounds ideal,” Shah Maxi said. “That way I can tucker out the kids before I meet you. Would you be adverse to inviting your friend?”

Marinette shook her head. “I told Alya all about you. She’s dying to meet you.”

“It’s a date,” Shah Maxi agreed. 

Beaming, Marinette practically floated home. She didn’t even mind that she had to ride her bike despite how exhausted she was. She felt a sprinter who could finally see the finish line. Her excitement buoyed her over the clouds. She couldn’t wait to tell Alya. She couldn’t wait for the fashion show. She couldn’t wait for anything.

X X X

Marinette’s outfit: https://cdnb.lystit.com/photos/2012/09/17/mink-pink-retrofolk-east-end-retro-folk-skater-skirt-product-1-4748974-567820009_large_flex.jpeg

Questions, comments, concerns?


	8. "It's Done."

There’s one thing I hate abut posting as you write something—you lose the ability to make big changes. It just occurred to me that I should have used Tikki in place of Shah Maxi. That would have been such a good fit, but I didn’t think of that until I started chapter nine.

X X X

Despite the short notice, everything came together quickly. Alya agreed to meet them at the café beside the park with the carousel. She knew exactly where Marinette was talking about, but couldn’t remember the name either. Since it was just a block away from Marinette’s apartment, she walked there and met up with Shah Maxi just as she was herding her two children inside.

“Hi,” Marinette greeted with a wave.

“Marinette, you’re so early!” Shah Maxi exclaimed. “It’s not even five o’clock.”

“I live really close by,” Marinette said.

“You walked here?” Shah Maxi asked.

Marinette nodded. “I don’t have a car so I either walk or ride my bike everywhere.”

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” Shah Maxi remarked. “Good, I’m glad that’s why. I was worried that you were trying to look like a model. They’re all too skinny.”

Marinette smiled and crouched to be at eye level with Shah Maxi’s two children. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Marinette. It’s nice to meet you.”

The two girls looked around the age of seven. Unlike Shah Maxi’s wildly dyed hair and bright contacts, they had rich chocolate hair and big dark eyes. They didn’t look very much like their mother, but Marinette didn’t look much like her father either. 

“I’m Nadja,” one of the girls said proudly. 

“And this is Nadia,” Shah Maxi explained and gestured to the child hunkered half behind her skirt. 

Nadja had on simple jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with a cupcake. Nadia, meanwhile, reflected Shah Maxi’s style through and through. She wore a plaid pleated skirt over rich red tights, cowboy boots, a blouse with mismatched buttons in the shapes of flowers and anchors, and a man’s too-big tie as a scarf. Though they were clearly twins, Marinette had a feeling no one had trouble telling them apart. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Marinette said.

“Let’s head inside and get a table.” Shah Maxi took a ridiculous step with Nadia clinging to the back of her skirt. Nadja held the door open politely for everyone and let it close behind them. 

“Anywhere you’d like,” called the waiter.

Shah Maxi pushed a small table up against another to make enough room for the five of them. She put herself between Nadia and Marinette, but Nadja sat down at Marinette’s elbow and looked her over critically. Marinette abruptly wished she had chosen to wear something a little more exciting than a denim skirt with a shift of lace underneath to make it a little longer, her favorite comfortable boots, and a tank top with a simple cherry blossom pattern on it. 

“Do you like her outfit?” Shah Maxi asked Nadja.

Despite the hard stare Nadja had been giving Marinette up until then, she smiled brightly and said, “Yes. It’s very fashionable.”

Marinette’s eyes widened.

Shah Maxi chuckled. “You can’t tell by looking at them, can you? Nadja wants to be a designer like me and Nadia wants to model,” she explained. To Nadja, she said, “Marinette works with me at Agreste Fashions.”

Nadja’s eyes went big and round. She stared at Marinette the way most little girls would stare at a unicorn or a birthday cake. “Really?”

“Yes,” Shah Maxi said. “Marinette is very talented. Maybe someday you can join Agreste Fashions too.”

Nadja nodded briskly. “But I’m not going to get in just because Mommy works there,” she said. “I want Gabriel Agreste to hire me because I’m the greatest.”

Marinette couldn’t help but smile.

Alya skidded in and sat down hard across from them. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder,” she said quickly. “Hi, I’m Alya.”

“A pleasure,” Shah Maxi said and introduced herself and her children.

“Ah, I love your hair,” Alya said excitedly. “Where do you get it colored?”

“I did it myself,” Shah Maxi said. “What about you? Your hair is magnificent.”

“It’s natural,” Alya said with a grin.

“Some people have all the luck,” Shah Maxi said with a groan.

The waiter walked over to the table, notepad in hand, and smiled as he told them the specials for the night.

“Order whatever you like, ladies,” Shah Maxi said. Before Marinette could protest, she broke in, “This is a celebration. Most of all, I would like to celebrate my miraculous intern.” She fixed Marinette with her best Mom voice. “Don’t argue with me, young lady.”

Stifling a giggle, Marinette relented. 

…

Alya had to run off a short time into their celebration for an emergency report at the Seine with the weatherman. About forty-five minutes later, Shah Maxi called it a night as well. Marinette saw them into a taxi, shrugged into her knit sweater, and pushed her hands into her pockets. The sun had gone down, but the night was still very young. Paris glowed in the amber streetlights, couples strolled through the park, and crickets sang. 

Marinette walked leisurely, breathing the cool night air deep into her lungs as she wandered through the park. She paused in front of the carousel and admired it. Though it was nothing like the exquisite masterpiece at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, it was beautiful in its own shiny way. Marinette smiled and wandered down the path away from the carousel. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, but she stepped into the grass to allow someone walking their dog more space.

Stepping back onto the path, she admired the ornate streetlamps. Her shadow danced across the thick green grass. Up ahead, she saw someone else enjoying the night. They were seated on a metal bench, legs stretched out and head tipped back. A crisp breeze blew through her and she drew her jacket a little tighter across her chest. Marinette passed the person on the bench, glancing at them briefly as she bid them a polite, ‘Good Evening.’ 

The words died in her throat.

Adrien Agreste was seated on the bench. He had a thick blue scarf wound around his neck, but he didn’t look prepared for the chill beyond that. He wore only jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, his arms folded tightly across his chest with his fingers tucked into the crook of his elbows to keep them warm. 

“Adrien?” Marinette asked immediately. 

Adrien’s eyes slid open slowly as though his lids were very heavy. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and dark circles hovered beneath them. Now that she could see his face, Marinette saw that his skin was chalky pale and his lips were chapped. 

She sat down beside him, concerned. “Are you alright? You look terrible.”

A wry laugh pulled from Adrien’s lips. “It’s nice to see that someone can be honest with me,” he remarked. “Everyone else cowers in fear in front of Gabriel Agreste’s son.”

Marinette flushed. Sometimes, she just couldn’t believe the things that came out of her mouth. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it. I own a mirror. I know what I look like,” Adrien said. He groaned as he sat up straighter on the bench, pushing his hands against his jeans. “I thought getting some fresh air would make me feel better.”

“Did it?” Marinette asked.

Adrien shook his head. He rubbed his hands together and then brought them to his mouth to breathe on them. His throat flashed as he swallowed, dark vein standing against his pale skin. Shivering, he pulled his scarf a little closer around his neck and tucked his hands back into his elbows.

“You should go home,” Marinette told him. “You look cold.”

“I will,” Adrien said, “in a little while.”

Marinette settled beside him with her back against the bench.

“Aren’t you going to leave?”

“When you do,” Marinette said shortly.

Adrien let out a deep sigh. His shoulder brushed hers as he shifted position. Silence stretched between them for a brief moment, broken only by the song of the crickets. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Adrien asked, “So, how are the preparations for the Fall Show going?”

Marinette beamed, excitement and pride filling every pore of her being like light pouring from the sun. “Amazing!” she said brightly. “Shah Maxi let me help with her designs and she even picked a few of mine to add to her lineup.”

The edge of his smile pinched as he tucked his face into his scarf. “I’m happy for you.”

Marinette cleared her throat and brushed some hair behind her ears. Awkwardly, she tried to stem her gushing eagerness. “What about you?” she asked as smoothly as she could. “I mean, you said you’ll be modeling in the show, right?”

Adrien nodded. “I have to model in every big show,” he said tiredly, “for my father.”

Marinette pressed her lips together thinly, intertwined her fingers, and weighed her words. She wanted to do her best not to put her foot in her mouth in front of Adrien again (and again). Gingerly, she asked, “You don’t want to?”

Adrien laughed but it sounded more like a cough. “That’s the understatement of the year,” he said. His green eyes widened a fraction, but the words were already out.

Marinette didn’t press at his reveal. She silently sat beside him on the bench, her shoulder just barely touching his. 

“Modeling is not my passion, but I’m an Agreste,” Adrien said finally. “When you’re Gabriel Agreste’s son, there’s no being disinterested. Fashion is the family business. I don’t have a choice.” 

The admission seemed wrung from him painfully and quiet lapsed in the wake of it. He seemed to be waiting for Marinette to say something, but she didn’t know what she could say. Comfortingly, she leaned securely into his shoulder.

“Should we trade parents?” Marinette asked suddenly.

Adrien jolted beside her. “What?”

“My parents own a bakery,” Marinette explained. “When I told them I didn’t want to inherit it, they were sad, but they let me go. If Gabriel Agreste was my father, it would be like a dream come true.”

Adrien started to shake his head and then paused. 

“It’s not, is it?” Marinette whispered.

Adrien didn’t answer. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to look at her. “I think I’ll head home now,” he said. “It’s been nice talking to you, Marinette, as always. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Are you coming to see the lineup with Gabriel Agreste?”

He nodded, the edge of his mouth curving. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve designed,” he said. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away, walking slowly down the path the way Marinette had come. She watched his back until he disappeared.

…

Marinette was both petrified and enthusiastic for Monday. She had never met Gabriel Agreste in person. Standing beside Shah Maxi amidst all their finished Fall Casual designs in the studio, Marinette realized she was barely breathing. She desperately wanted to know what Gabriel thought of her designs, but what if he was as hard and frightening as he looked in his magazines? She thought of what Adrien had said, of how he had looked. Her hands trembled.

“Shh,” Shah Maxi said. She caught Marinette’s hand and squeezed consolingly. “You’re going to pass out if you keep that up and I am not picking you up off the floor. I’ll step over you, I mean it.”

Marinette sucked in some air, let it out, and took another deep breath.

“Good job,” Shah Maxi said.

Gabriel Agreste made his way throughout the studio like a tidal wave, lifting some designs like surfers and demolishing others against the rocks. His sharp blue eyes discarded faulty designs without concern. With a wave of his hand, he might as well have crushed the designers’ hearts. 

Gabriel’s three-piece suit was impeccable though the designer of it wasn’t easily recognized. The pale material made his eyes look darker and colder, like the deepest reaches of the ocean. His white-blonde hair was swept severely away from his face. The sharp line of his jaw and the tilt of his lips brought more attention to his thin stern expression. He looked like the type of man who could turn someone to stone with one look.

On his right, Gabriel’s assistant marked off the imperfect designs on her tablet. Nathalie was as tall and thin as a rail with sharp manicured fingernails and dark eyes hidden behind the glare on her glasses. Her narrow mouth was downturned even at the most beautiful dresses and suits. Austere and as silver-sharp as a blade, she wore a plain black suit exquisitely tailored to her body. 

On Gabriel’s other side, Adrien offered the slashed designers a thin smile or a nod of agreement to the ones that had been approved. Compared to his father and Nathalie, he looked like a ray of sunshine, like a single flower blooming in a deserted field. He wore a pale blue dress shirt with black slacks, simple and yet more stunning than the tailored suits.

It felt like an eternity and somehow like mere seconds before Gabriel was in front of Marinette and Shah Maxi. 

Marinette clenched both hands in her skirt to keep them from shaking and tried to smile. 

“Shah Maxi,” Gabriel said by way of greeting. His voice was crisp, but surprisingly quiet.

Shah Maxi put her hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “This is the intern I told you—well, that I told Nathalie—about,” she said.

Gabriel glanced at Nathalie and she nodded curtly.

“Her winning design was stolen by Chloé Bourgeois,” Shah Maxi continued.

“Unfortunate incident. That’s why I arranged for Marilyn to work with you, Shah Maxi,” Nathalie said dismissively. “Has it been taken care of to your liking?”

Gabriel turned his eyes on Marinette, waiting.

Marinette took a breath and nodded.

Shah Maxi squeezed down on Marinette’s shoulder. “Some of these designs are Marinette’s,” she said. “She had real potential.”

Gabriel nodded and turned his attention to the designs. “Show me.”

Shah Maxi grinned. She swept her hand across the lineup, chattering.

Nathalie followed behind Gabriel, her mouth pinched as though she tasted something sour.

Adrien lingered beside Marinette, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

She continued to stare after Gabriel, barely blinking.

He touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Marinette sucked in a breath.

Adrien smiled slightly. “Are you a little star-struck?”

Marinette flushed and nervously smoothed her hair. “It’s just… Gabriel Agreste has been my idol for years,” she confessed. “And now, here he is looking at my designs.”

Adrien patted her back. “Are you going to show me what you designed?”

Marinette nodded and beckoned him over the lineup. A few feet behind Shah Maxi, Gabriel, and Nathalie, Marinette pointed out the jacket that she had embroidered and the scarf that she had added sequins to. Her fingers still trembled as she showed him her work, but her hands and breathing steadied as she spoke with him. Adrien admired each piece, smiling at her. 

…

The Fall Fashion Show was well underway. Shah Maxi had pulled an entire tapestry of strings to get Marinette at her side for the event. They remained backstage together, making last second alterations and standing by in case there was a wardrobe malfunction. The music pulsed, reminding Marinette a little bit of the performances at Le Chat Noir. If not for the fact that the clothing was the focus, rather than stripping the clothing off, she would have argued that they were almost the same. Nino was even DJing behind the scenes. She had glimpsed him earlier, but didn’t have time to talk to him.

“Shah Maxi,” Marinette said as she snipped a thread on a loose button. “Thank you so much for—”

“Marinette, I love you,” Shah Maxi interrupted, “but if you thank me one more time, I swear I will push you through the curtain and onto the stage.”

Marinette blushed. “Sorry,” she said and stuffed her scissors back into the apron she wore around her hips. It was filled to bursting with the supplies they would need to patch tiny tears, loosen zippers, and tend blisters. “I’m just so excited to be here.”

Shah Maxi wore a matching one, plastered all over with decals of the Eiffel Tower. “I know,” she said to Marinette. “That’s the only reason I haven’t strangled you. Well, that and I seriously need you.”

Marinette slipped under Shah Maxi’s arm and pinched the silk of a formal gown together so Shah Maxi could ease up the straining zipper the rest of the way. 

“Sorry,” the model whispered. “I was just so hungry.”

“Honey, it’s not even a quarter of an inch,” Shah Maxi said. “We can make it work.” Patting the model on the back, Shah Maxi ushered her towards the hair and makeup artists for the final touches. “Next!”

Soon, everyone was dressed and prepared for the first wave of modeling. Gabriel was already on stage, giving his elaborate speech with a broad winning smile. The music dimmed so his voice could be heard a little better. Marinette took a deep breath, mopped some hair out of her face, and looked around.

There was a roar of applause.

“Are we almost ready?” came a cold voice. “Ten minutes, people. Suck in that gut!”

Marinette turned in time to see Adrien and Nathalie enter the backstage space. Unperturbed by the way the model’s eyes swelled with tears, Nathalie strode away and milled between the many models. She snapped at a few and dismissed others without a word. Beside her, Adrien looked stunning and gentle in a cream-colored shirt, ruffled lace cravat, and a rich wine-red jacket over black slacks.

Adrien flashed a smile at Marinette when he saw her, smoothed his jacket, and approached. “I’m surprised you’re here,” he said.

Marinette nodded. “Shah Maxi pulled every string in the book to get me here. I’m so grateful—”

“Marinette,” Shah Maxi broke in. “Remember what I said. You and that curtain are going to become friends.”

Adrien looked confused as he glanced between them.

Marinette smiled. “She’s tired of how many times I’ve thanked her, but what else can I do? I never would have had an opportunity like this if not for—”

“Stop!” Shah Maxi said with a thin whine. “I told you to stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

Marinette simply smiled at Adrien. “You look dashing,” she said and resisted the urge to smooth the line of his jacket along his elbow. “Do you need anything repaired or altered?”  
“Maybe later,” Adrien said. “These were just my introduction clothes. I have to change into what I’m actually modeling.”

“Hurry, hurry then,” Shah Maxi said, “before Nathalie-zilla notices.”

Adrien’s lips quirked as he tried not to grin. “Try to keep the city safe while I’m gone,” he said. He patted Marinette’s shoulder and squeezed Shah Maxi’s arm as he walked away

“No promises, but I always try,” Shah Maxi called at his back.

Nathalie clapped her hands loudly for attention. “Line up, everyone. Seven minutes until show time.” She paced along the lines of models, looking everyone over with a critical eye as she glanced back and forth between them and her tablet. Putting her finger to her ear, she said into her radio, “Things look fine here.”

There was a beat of silence. 

Nathalie’s eyes roved over everyone and then she shook her head curtly. “He’s dragging,” she said. “I’ll hurry him along.”

Nathalie snapped her tablet to her side like a soldier’s rifle. Abruptly, she stopped at a female model with her curled black hair piled up on her head. She was shivering slightly in her sleek silk gown. A makeup artist was applying a little more blush to her cheeks, smoothing out the paleness of her skin. 

“Does she look alright?” the makeup artist asked.

Nathalie circled the model like a shark. “Did you lose the weight Gabriel ordered?”

“Yes,” the model murmured.

Nathalie nodded. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” the model and artist said in unison.

Nathalie marched along the procession of models.

One male model wore an elaborate hat covered in plumes of thick white feathers. He pushed a feather out of his face so he could see, tucking it up and into the brim of the hat.

Nathalie snapped down on him like a crocodile. “That is not the design Gabriel approved,” she said.

The model adjusted the hat. “But I can’t see well. I might trip.”

“Then you’d better be careful,” Nathalie told him.

He looked about to protest, but snapped his mouth shut. He readjusted the feather and the hat. Though it did look better with the feather hanging over his eyes, Marinette could see his point. She wondered how such a design had been approved. It wasn’t very practical, even if it was glamorous. 

Nathalie nodded sharply in consent. She came to stand beside Shah Maxi and Marinette, giving them a once over as well. “Any problems?” she asked.

“A few like the hat,” Shah Maxi said pointedly. Shah Maxi had declined altering some too-long and trip-worthy dresses because she knew Gabriel and by extension Nathalie would disapprove, but she didn’t like dangerous clothing.

Nathalie misunderstood or else chose to ignore Shah Maxi’s true intent. “Models!” said Nathalie dismissively. “The lack of food makes them so very cranky. Just keep everything as it should be, Shah Maxi.” Scrolling through her tablet, she walked away.

Shah Maxi let out a hard breath.

Nervously, Marinette drew her eyes over the models now that she didn’t have anything in front of her that needed repairing. “These models,” she whispered to Shah Maxi. “They’re all so thin.”

Shah Maxi nodded slowly, her jaw clenched hard. “These are the models that Gabriel Agreste hand-picked.”

Marinette looked up at Shah Maxi with concern. “Hand-picked?”

Shah Maxi nodded. “He lets them plump up a little in the summer, but for winter and fall, he needs them thin. He needs these thicker warmer lines to be as slender and form-fitting as possible.” 

Marinette smoothed her hands along her apron. “That’s… sad.”

“Gabriel believes that fashion is something to be worked for, not something anyone should be able to achieve,” Shah Maxi said coldly. “It’s practically his motto, but that’s why he’s the best. Everyone wants to look the way his designs make them think they should look. The whole world eats it up and then they don’t eat anything else.”

The music surged up, along with a cacophony of applause. 

Marinette and Shah Maxi were near the curtain leading onto the catwalk. They would give everyone a brief check before they emerged in front of the crowd and be close on hand if anything went wrong. One fall could tear a gown or break a zipper. They had to be on their toes as much as the models. Shah Maxi eased Marinette aside and gestured the first group of models, spacing them apart by counting off her fingers. She brushed off lint, smoothed wrinkles, and straightened jewelry. 

Taking a hint, Marinette worked away from Shah Maxi and tried to spot errors before they reached the curtain. Reaching a wrinkled suit coat that she had embroidered, Marinette quickly ran her hands over the model’s chest to flatten it. A stray thread caught against her palm and she snipped it, stuffing everything back into her apron. 

“Well, how do I look?”

Marinette snapped her head up in surprise.

Adrien smiled at her.

“Y-you’re modeling my jacket?” Marinette whispered.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “Shah Maxi wasn’t just blowing smoke when she said you were good. It’s one of my favorites and I’m Adrien Agreste so I can make a few selections of my own.”

Marinette blushed. 

“Go on,” Adrien said. “I know you have work to do. Don’t let me keep you from it.”

Nodding hastily, Marinette continued down the line. She knew when Adrien had walked out by the lift in applause. All eyes were on him and her jacket. She couldn’t believe it. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time later to freak with excitement and pass out, preferably with Alya and a pitcher of margaritas. 

The show moved like a revolving door. Models came off the catwalk and immediately went to change. Artists altered their makeup and hair where necessary. Marinette kept on her toes, hoping to spot anything that needed fixing before Shah Maxi. Nathalie returned a few minutes into the show, sliding in and out of the performance like a saw through a tree, but she didn’t bother Marinette or Shah Maxi. Her attention was on the clothes only.

When Gabriel joined them, Marinette’s hands shook, but she tightened her grip on her scissors as she trimmed a stray thread. Struggling with a zipper at the back of a pleated skirt, Marinette was so focused that she didn’t notice Gabriel until he spoke.

“You couldn’t keep out of the trough, could you?” he asked. His voice was as smooth and cold as glass.

Marinette jolted.

The model sucked in her stomach as tightly as she could and Marinette finally managed the zipper.

“Sometimes, you need a firm hand,” Gabriel said to Marinette. “If you’re going to design for anyone, especially me, you need to know that.”

Marinette’s throat went dry. She could only nod.

Gabriel walked away, his eyes snapping over the lineup. 

“Marinette!” Chloé’s excited voice speared through Marinette and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Chloé?” Marinette asked. “You’re here?”

Chloé proudly brandished a backstage pass. “My father is the mayor, remember? I asked him to get me a pass so I could cheer you on.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said. 

“Do you need any help?” Chloé asked brightly.

“No,” Marinette explained. “Everything is basically done. It’s just a matter of timing right now.”

“It’s five-fifteen,” Chloé told her helpfully.

While that wasn’t really what Marinette meant by timing, she was grateful and then shocked. The show had only been going on for fifteen minutes and it was due to last a full two hours, followed by another speech from Gabriel Agreste. She couldn’t believe how much was still ahead of her. 

“Are you alright?” Chloé asked. “You just got pale.”

“I’m a little hungry,” Marinette said, “but it’s nothing.”

“Oh!” Chloé exclaimed. “I will get you a snack. I’ll be right back!”

“No, Chloé,” Marinette protested. Though she was hungry, the last thing she wanted to do was eat in front of the starving models. Hopefully Chloé brought her a power bar or something else that she could drop into her apron until later. 

Marinette popped over to Shah Maxi.

“Are you doing okay?” Shah Maxi asked. “Overwhelmed?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette assured her. “How about you?”

“It’s all good,” Shah Maxi said. “I haven’t had much to fix. I don’t suppose that’s your handwork?”

Marinette nodded with a smile.

“You’re the ace in my sleeve,” Shah Maxi told her.

Marinette worked her way down the line again. More models and more clothing constantly poured before her. She worked smoothly between the makeup artists, hair stylists, and Nathalie. Whenever she came across Gabriel, she always took half a step back. The last thing she wanted was to get in his way. 

She came across Adrien again.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” Marinette said. “How about you?”

He was wearing jeans, a casual cable-knit sweater that complemented his eyes, and a braided scarf. He looked just as good as he had in the embroidered suit coat. Marinette decided that Adrien could make a plastic bag look great. “Fine,” he assured her. “Do you know what stage we’re in?”

Looking him over pointedly, Marinette said, “Casual.”

“And what’s next?”

“Coats,” she told him.

“Then we’re almost finished,” Adrien said with a little relief.

Marinette’s eyes widened. She hadn’t realized just how quickly time could fly when she was constantly busy, but Adrien was right. Formal was the first stage of the fashion show and coats were the penultimate and Gabriel’s special choices would be the finale. It really was almost over.

Chloé appeared just as Marinette moved away from Adrien. “I brought you some granola bars,” she said brightly, “since you’re probably too busy to eat and some water.”

Marinette took everything gratefully, put the bars into her apron, and uncapped the water immediately. Her mouth was so dry and it wasn’t only from continuously running into Gabriel. She gulped the cool water happily. “Thank you so much, Chloé. I really needed that.”

Chloé beamed. “Do you mind if I stay and watch?”

Since Chloé already had a backstage pass, Marinette figured she could. Pulling a chair away from one of the unused makeup stations a little, Marinette gestured for her to sit down. “Just be careful not to get in anyone’s way,” Marinette said. 

Chloé nodded and hopped into the seat, crossing her long tanned legs. Marinette hadn’t even realized that Chloé was dressed to the nines in a little black dress and strappy heels with diamonds dripping from her earlobes, throat, and wrist. She looked as stunning as any one of the models, except maybe Adrien.

Marinette fell back into the sea of fashion and loose threads and zippers. She used her shoulder to steady a model as she zipped her boots. Then, she found herself standing beside Nathalie as she looked over the line of coats, comparing each model to her tablet. She paused in front of Adrien critically.

“According to this, there should be a hat with this coat,” Nathalie remarked.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed.

“Can I see?” Marinette asked.

Nathalie tipped the tablet. There was an image of Marinette’s cat hat beside a number and creative name along with a big green check of approval.

“I’ll find it,” Marinette told Nathalie.

“See that you do,” Nathalie said and moved on.

Marinette hastened to the many racks of clothing and rifled through the empty garment bags. The hat was still hanging where it had been at the beginning, nicely labeled and free of lint. Marinette examined it as she hurried back to Adrien, but it was just as it had been when Marinette made it. Giddy butterflies fluttered in Marinette’s stomach at the thought of Adrien wearing something else she had made.

“Here you go, Adrien,” Marinette said cheerfully. 

He didn’t take the hat, keeping his hands tight against his sides. “I don’t want it.”

Marinette was taken aback, holding the hat and some matching clawed mittens that Shah Maxi had suggested helplessly. “What? Why?” She hated the way her voice gave a little tremble and she cleared her throat. 

He fumbled a moment and then bit out, “I hate hats.”

Confused, Marinette stared at him. She had never seen him act like this—not when Chloé had cheated to win, not when he had to model a Speedo, not when he loaded Marinette’s filthy bike into the trunk of his car. How was a simple hat pushing him over the edge? 

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, examining the hat from another angle. She had added a few stitches around the eyeholes so that no loose threads would bother a model’s eyes. From her perspective, the hat looked just fine. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “Just tell Nathalie that you couldn’t find it.”

“But—” 

“I’m not wearing it.”

Marinette bristled despite herself. “You’re being ridiculous,” she said tartly. “It’s just a hat.”

“I’m not wearing it,” he repeated and turned away to show her that the matter was settled.

Before the Fall Show had even started, Shah Maxi had taken Marinette aside and told her firmly that, “The only diva allowed is Gabriel Agreste. Everyone else will have to get a grip. If you have to, stick someone with a pin! But… don’t actually stick anyone. Just make it work.” 

Annoyed with Adrien’s sudden bad attitude, Marinette took the cat hat in both hands. It would be easy since his back was turned to her and he was pointedly ignoring the whole situation. Without another word, she pulled the hat down over his head.

He let out a shout of surprise and whirled around to face her, mouth agape.

“Stop being a brat,” she told him, but the words died slowly on her lips. 

She realized why he had been so against the hat immediately—the pointed cat ears on the top of his head, the inky knit standing out against his pale skin, his green eyes cast in an acidic glow by the black mask, the tufts of honey-blonde hair curling out from beneath the hat. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock. 

“Oh my god, you’re… you’re Chat Noir.” 

Adrien ripped the hat off his head as though to throw it across the room, but his trembling fingers fisted it tightly instead. “Don’t,” he said in a strangled voice. “Don’t say anything. Keep your voice down.”

Marinette nodded numbly.

“You see why I can’t wear it, don’t you?” he said. “We’ll talk about this after the show. Just… keep it to yourself until then.”

Marinette nodded again.

Adrien balled the hat up and threw it away blindly. “If Nathalie asks, you couldn’t find it. I’ll back you up.”

She nodded.

Adrien didn’t say anything else.

Numb, Marinette continued working down the line of models. 

“Did you find the hat?” Nathalie asked, her voice surging through Marinette like a volt of electricity. 

Gabriel was close enough to overhear. “A hat is missing?”

Marinette wished the floor would swallow her up. How had this happened? And all over one stupid hat. “I’m sorry,” she said in a way that she hoped seemed nonchalant and apologetic. “I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it.”

A muscle in Nathalie’s jaw ticked.

Gabriel’s expression remained smooth. “What hat was it?”

“A cat hat,” Marinette murmured.

Nathalie tipped her tablet so that Gabriel could see. 

“Here it is!” Chloé said brightly. She appeared at Marinette’s elbow like a devil straight from hell, thick lashes fluttering. She had been listening. It was clear she didn’t fully understand, but she had been listening. “I found it, Marinette!”

Marinette’s blood ran cold.

“Good,” Nathalie said. “It’s for Adrien.”

Gabriel’s expression flickered and his smile sharpened. “Let’s bring it to him, shall we?”

“No,” Marinette protested weakly and no one listened to her.

Nathalie, Gabriel, and Chloé set off up the line to where Adrien stood. Marinette followed helplessly, her heart battering against his ribcage. If he put that hat on and went onstage, his identity as Chat Noir would be blown wide open. Hell, if he even put that hat on in front of Chloé, everyone would know.

“Here you go, Adrien,” Chloé said happily.

His green eyes flashed over her blonde head to Marinette, shocked and confused.

“Put it on, Adrien,” Nathalie said coldly. “We don’t have time for this.”

Adrien was only a few models away from Shah Maxi, the curtain, and the catwalk. Precious seconds ticked by.

“I can’t,” Adrien forced out.

“Why not?” Nathalie snapped at him.

Gabriel didn’t speak, only smiled. He had to know what that hat would do to his son, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“I—”

“Hurry up, Adrien,” Nathalie said.

Shah Maxi turned to study the exchange, her bright eyes wide. 

Chloé continued to hold the hat out, her smile as stiff and painted as a plastic mask.

Adrien reached for the hat. His long thin white fingers curled as though in slow-motion.

Marinette would never know what he planned to do, if he planned anything at all. 

The air left her lungs as though the floor had dropped from beneath her. In seconds, she saw a flicker of each interaction she had had with Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste—his first dance as he whispered, ‘Happy Birthday,’ when he disentangled her from an over-served patron at the club, his soft voice as he comforted her after Chloé stole her design, when he gave her a ride to work in the rain. Their one night together followed, flaring with the memories of his gentle hands and mouth, his glow in the dark eyes, the way he caressed and filled her. She thought of the club, how he cared for everyone who worked there and made sure no one drove home drunk, how he leaped to Nathanaël’s defense and looked murderous when those bachelorettes had screamed at him. She saw his face as he told her sadly that Chat Noir didn’t exist outside the club, how he had been so careful, and now one stupid hat was going to ruin it all.

She couldn’t let that happen. 

Marinette took the hat from Chloé, saying, “Wait. There’s a string.” As if in slow motion, she reached into her apron for her scissors. Once the blade was in her hand, she cut through the middle of the cat hat, right between its eyes. Holding the two halves in her hands, she said, “Oops.”

Nathalie’s face bloomed cherry-red.

Chloé’s mouth gaped open.

Gabriel only stared, his smile fixed on his face.

“How dare you!” Nathalie shouted. She raised her manicured hand, the tablet catching in the light like a knife. 

Marinette didn’t move. She was too stricken by what she had revealed and what she had done.

Adrien caught Nathalie’s upraised arm by the elbow and pulled hard enough to spin the assistant around. “Leave her alone,” he said coldly. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Then, there were no more models between him and the curtain. Shah Maxi beckoned him on to the catwalk and he had no choice but to go. Concerned, Shah Maxi gripped Marinette’s hand and tugged her a few steps closer. Her eyes lit on Gabriel, on Nathalie and Chloé, on the ruined hat in Marinette’s hands. 

“It’s done,” Gabriel said. “We’ll talk later.” With that, he ushered Nathalie and Chloé away.

It was over.

Shah Maxi called Marinette’s name, but it seemed to be coming from a long way off. 

When Marinette had cut that hat to pieces, right in front of Gabriel Agreste, she may as well have hacked her burgeoning career into shreds. The soft fabric clenched in her hands was nothing like the broken bones of her future. Marinette wished she had been able to sleep the fateful night she designed it, wished she had given the hat to Shah Maxi, wished she had never gone to Le Chat Noir…

X X X

This chapter really felt like a whirlwind.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	9. "Will You Dance with Me?"

Epic Fanart of Sexy Stripper Chat Noir by Goggles McGee. Link: http://goggles-mcgee.tumblr.com/post/138568279843/like-what-you-see-purr-incess-edited-and

SinningCat also drew some lovely art which Mirth linked to me. Link: http://sinningcat.tumblr.com/post/138660655725/some-one-asked-for-the-g-string-lap-dance-from-le

Ice-blue-fox drew this as well. Link: http://ice-blue-fox.deviantart.com/art/Le-chat-noir-589452385

X X X

In minutes that felt like years to Marinette, Adrien reappeared on the opposite side of the curtain. He marched right over to Marinette, caught her hand in his with the ruined hat between their palms, and pulled her away from Shah Maxi. She lurched behind him, still too stunned to move on her own. 

“What happened?” Shah Maxi demanded.

“Everything’s fine,” Adrien said to her.

Marinette didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Adrien towed her through the models that remained waiting to go on for the finale. He pulled open a dressing room that was marked with his name on a simple printed sheet of paper, ushered her inside, and closed it with a bang. He didn’t say anything as he stripped off the heavy black pea coat he had just modeled, flicking the big buttons through their holes furiously. Marinette watched, unable to bring herself to care even when one button popped off and rolled across the floor. Adrien threw the coat over a chair with his messenger bag. 

He wore a plain white t-shirt beneath, the thin material showing his pale skin. He was Chat Noir, Marinette thought. She knew what he looked like with his shirt off. Hell, she had dragged her fingers and lips over every inch of his chest. Adrien looked like he wanted to sit down and never get up, but he needed to change before his father’s speech after the finale. Without looking at Marinette, he kicked off his jeans. He had on boxers and Marinette’s mind swam drunkenly. She had always thought Adrien didn’t wear underwear, but Chat Noir needed to have briefs on for his performances. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said. Marinette couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself or to her. “You didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“How did this happen? What have I done?” Marinette asked. 

Adrien straightened from untying his shoes and dragged a hand through his hair. “What was Chloé even doing here?”

“I told her she could stay,” Marinette whispered. “She had a backstage pass anyway. I didn’t think that she’d—”

“Did he plan this? Why else would he have approved that hat?” Adrien cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “He never lets people backstage, but he let Chloé have a pass. He knows she’s obsessed with me.”

“I made it,” Marinette whispered. “Shah Maxi liked it. I should have given it to her for her kids.”

Adrien ground out another curse, directed at everything and no one. 

It was as though their conversations were taking place on different planes of reality. 

Marinette fell silent, her eyes trained on Adrien’s back as he peeled off his t-shirt. The skin of his back was pale and smooth, but the bend of his ribcage stood out sharply. He was so thin, from the sharp joints of his shoulders to the column of his spine to the jagged curve of his hip. Since she had touched him, kissed him, been with him, he had lost so much weight. The way Chat Noir had devoured her power bar took on a new light, as did his weeks of illness. 

Marinette’s mind cleared as she found something to focus on besides her impending doom. “How much weight did you have to lose for the show?” she asked.

The topic appeared to jolt Adrien out of his thoughts as well. He hastily pulled on a silk shirt and buttoned it, but the thin material allowed a whisper of his skin to show through. “Fifteen pounds,” he said coldly. “Not as much as the other models, but enough to suck.”

Marinette took a deep breath. The weight of the granola bars inside her apron suddenly felt feather-light. She rifled through them, holding them out on her palms. “Do you need something to eat?”

Adrien glanced at her, stared at the snacks, and then looked away. “Yes,” he admitted, “but later. Once the show is over, I’ll eat something.”

Marinette’s breath rattled. “When I saw you at the club,” she whispered to herself, “when Chat Noir was so sick…”

He heard her anyway and said, “It was because Adrien was starving himself.” He jerked on black trousers and tucked in the shirt. The material smoothed across his back, tailored to him, and it hugged the slender lines of his body. 

Marinette imagined she could see his ribs through the silk that was already the color of bones.

“Shit,” Adrien said under his breath. “How did this happen? I’ve always been so careful. No one has ever found out who I am. How did one little thing ruin it all?”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered. 

“It’s not your fault,” he snapped. “It’s my father’s. He assigned that hat to me. He knew what would happen.”

Marinette swallowed. “Why would he do that to you?”

“To show me,” Adrien growled. “To put me back in my place.”

Marinette watched as he pulled on a tuxedo jacket and buttoned it. He grabbed his tie, a rich emerald green that complemented his eyes, and fumbled to fasten it. His fingers were so thin and pale, shaking slightly. She thought of helping him, but kept her hands in her lap. 

“I’ll be back,” Adrien said. “Wait here for me.”

With that, he slammed out the door of the dressing room.

Marinette was thinking clear enough now that she would have liked to return to helping Shah Maxi, but she didn’t want to do anything to make this situation worse than it already was. She found the button that had torn from the pea coat and sewed it back on. When she finished, she folded the coat neatly over the back of the chair. Then, she stared around the small dressing room. 

Unlike his room at Le Chat Noir, this one had no personal touches, but that was understandable because it was just a borrowed space for the Fall Fashion Show. Marinette rubbed her palms against her jeans, mentally lining Chat Noir and Adrien against each other. There were similarities in their mannerisms, voices, and looks. Chat Noir had always seemed like a free-spirit, especially compared with the few times she had interacted with Adrien. However, both were undeniably guarded. Marinette realized she didn’t know much about either of them, besides what they had wanted her to know. 

Marinette had just let go of the revelation when the dressing room door banged open. Adrien stalked in with Gabriel just behind him. Gabriel closed the door purposefully and his storm-colored eyes flicked over both of them. An amused smile touched his mouth.

“Marinette, was it?” Gabriel asked.

Marinette nodded slowly.

“I applaud you on your design. A cat hat—” his eyes slashed across Adrien “—how clever.”

Adrien loosened his tie, breath hissing between clenched teeth. “Why did you do this?”

Gabriel moved through the room and sat down where Marinette had draped the pea coat, crossing his legs and folding his hands as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “You know why, Adrien,” he said. “What I underestimated was the loyalty you always inspire in others.”

Marinette’s skin prickled.

“Tell me, Marinette, why you would risk your fledgling career for Adrien?” Gabriel asked. “Why would you cut that hat to pieces right in front of me? Did you know what he would look like with it on?” 

Marinette glanced helplessly at Adrien, uncertain of what to say.

“Leave her out of this,” Adrien snapped.

Gabriel tilted his head. “This concerns her, too.” His voice hardened then, like steel or a bullet. “This is why you cannot keep that club, Adrien. People see you and they will recognize you, no matter the silly masks or ridiculous names you put on. People will know you and the Agreste name will be tainted.” He spit out the word.

Adrien’s voice was just as cold, but brittle at the center like ice cracking over a deep frozen lake. “Le Chat Noir was Mom’s.”

Gabriel didn’t react. “And she closed it when she married me. She didn’t do the ridiculous things that you do.”

“Mom broke her body to pieces to make you happy.” The words exploded out of Adrien, jagged and harsh.

Marinette felt that she should leave as quietly as possible. She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be privy to this, she shouldn’t hear these words. She shifted her weight, breathing slow and quiet.

Gabriel’s eyes cut into her regardless. “Did you meet him at his little club, Marinette?”

She didn’t answer, twisting her hands nervously in her lap. 

“Did he tell you who he was?” Gabriel asked. “Did he risk everything just for you?”

Shock crossed Marinette’s features. 

“Stop it. I told you to leave her alone,” Adrien ground out. “She didn’t know until you set this up—until you set me up. This is all your fault.” 

Gabriel didn’t look concerned and smoothed his cravat. “Get dressed for the party, Adrien,” he said and rose to his feet. “Provided you don’t do anything to further embarrass yourself, we can talk about this tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to the party,” Adrien said.

The corner of Gabriel’s nose wrinkled briefly as though he was peering at some insect crawling across his marble floor before he recovered. “Excuse me?”

“I need to go home,” Adrien continued. “I need to sleep. I need to eat something.”

“Adrien,” Gabriel chided. His words were as thin and smooth as satin. “You’re so beautiful now—like this.”

Adrien made a harsh sound in his throat, something mingling rage and disgust. 

Marinette thought of the visible bend of his ribs, of how he had seemed near to fainting at Le Chat Noir, of his pale skin and the way he shivered. All the other models that Gabriel had picked looked just like—no, they looked worse—than Adrien did.

Gabriel turned slightly towards her. “You’d like to go to the party, wouldn’t you Marinette?” he asked. “Maybe you can salvage your career there.”

Marinette froze, her heart skipping a beat. 

Adrien’s mouth curled into a snarl.

Gabriel smiled silkily. “Why don’t you bring her with you, Adrien?” To Marinette, he added, “Don’t worry about what to wear. Just put on anything from the show.” Without waiting for an answer, convinced that he had already won whatever this was, Gabriel Agreste left without a backwards glance.

Making a revolted sound in his throat, Adrien pushed a hand through his pale hair. He turned sharply towards Marinette. “Are you alright?”

She couldn’t find her voice so she just nodded.

“This is why I can’t get close to anyone,” Adrien murmured. His voice was tired and thin. “People are just pawns in his game. There is nothing and no one he won’t use to his advantage to get what he wants.”

Marinette had no idea where she stood. Would the floor cave beneath her feet at any moment? Would she manage to survive this? She didn’t want to jump to any conclusions or panic, but it was hard not to. Her career could be over before it even began. She still had Shah Maxi and she hoped Adrien would do what he could to help her. Gabriel hadn’t fired her on the spot and he had said she could salvage her career—maybe. 

Marinette clenched her trembling fingers into fists, but her voice came out more broken than she expected. Despite how tightly she had been gripping the reins on her emotions, her world crumbled at the seams. “Will he… will he fire me for what I did?” she choked out. “If Gabriel Agreste fires me, I’ll never be able to work in the fashion industry again. Oh god—”

Adrien turned sharply, took one look at her, and engulfed her in his arms. He pressed her face into his chest and smothered her frenzied words. “Stop,” he said and then hushed her when she tried to speak. 

His hand stroked over her hair, fingers loosening tangles in a way that seemed habitual. He rested his palm firmly against the back of her neck, holding her close and still until she stopped shaking. Her arms were wrapped around his narrow waist, her fingers clutched into the back of his crisp tuxedo jacket. She could smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body. It should have been awkward, but the familiarity was only a comfort to her now. He had seen her at her best, he had seen her at her worst, and he had seen her naked. There was nothing he hadn’t seen of her. She sniffled, her cheek resting over his steady heartbeat. He smoothed her dark hair, sliding the strands between his long fingers again. 

“I’m not going to let him fire you,” Adrien said softly. “I should have known better than to get close to anyone as Chat Noir. I should have kept my lives separate, like I have since I was eighteen, but you were just so—” he cut himself off, but his gentle touches didn’t cease.

“Adrien,” Marinette whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s just mine and my father’s.”

“What do we do now?” Marinette asked softly.

“We go to that party. If Gabriel gets what he wants, it’ll bring down his ire,” he said.

“I have some granola bars,” Marinette told him, her face still against his chest.

The slight tension that ran down his back betrayed him. “That would be great,” he murmured.

Slowly, gently, they eased apart. Adrien’s hand cradled her face and he smoothed back her mussed hair. Marinette stared up at him, tracing the lines of his face and expression with her eyes. She still could hardly believe he was Chat Noir, but the similarities were undeniable. 

She said quickly, “I won’t tell anyone about you being Chat Noir. I promise.”

Adrien’s smile was brittle. “I know you won’t, but it’s not a secret you should have to keep.”

Marinette stared at him, stricken.

“Go pick something out to wear. Have Shah Maxi help you. She’s probably worried sick,” Adrien said.

Marinette nodded, fished the granola bars out of her apron, and handed them all to Adrien. She pushed open the door to his dressing room and found Shah Maxi hanging clothes back on the many racks. Marinette fell in beside her, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves before she spoke. Shah Maxi remained quiet, though it was obvious her attention was focused on Marinette. 

It felt like hours ticked by as Marinette searched for a place to begin, but there was nothing she could say without giving something away. “I can’t explain it,” she said finally. Just like that, she tasted the weight of Adrien’s secret and she realized why he hadn’t wanted to share. She couldn’t tell Shah Maxi what had really happened. She wouldn’t be able to tell Alya either. Secrets had to be kept, even from friends. 

“You cut apart that hat,” Shah Maxi said, “right in front of Gabriel Agreste. Can you tell me why you did that?”

Marinette shook her head, breath rattling between her teeth. 

“If you don’t tell me what happened, Marinette, I can’t do anything to help you,” Shah Maxi murmured.

Marinette nodded in understanding. “I know,” she whispered.

Shah Maxi sighed as she draped a scarf over the top of a hanger and pushed it into a garment bag. “Is Adrien going to help you?” 

“He will,” Marinette assured Shah Maxi.

A beat of silence spread between them before Shah Maxi said with surprising coldness, “Whatever this is has to do with him, doesn’t it?” At Marinette’s shocked expression, she continued, “Adrien Agreste has always been a peculiarity. For years, I have watched Gabriel trying to mold that boy into something that he can consider perfect, but Adrien has never become what Gabriel wanted—not entirely, at least. He’s just like his mother was.”

Marinette tucked a coat into its bag and hung it up. “I think you can call tonight a culmination of that,” she admitted.

Shah Maxi nodded. “Gabriel Agreste might be a brilliant designer, but he’s a boil. I couldn’t stand watching the way he treated his wife,” she said. “I can’t stand watching him pick apart his son. There have been too many times when I watched Adrien come out of Gabriel’s office and just wanted to hug him.”

Marinette thought of the rainy day Adrien had given her a ride, when she had been filled with the desire to let him know that she would listen without judgment to whatever bothered him. She thought of Adrien’s exposed ribs, of how Chat Noir had been on the point of collapse, all because Gabriel wanted him thin. She knew exactly what Shah Maxi meant.

“Adrien can probably help you survive whatever happened,” Shah Maxi continued, “but he needs help too. Whatever secret he’s carrying, it’s going to crush him if he doesn’t let it out. Let him help you, Marinette, but try to help him too.”

Marinette nodded. “I will,” she promised. 

Shah Maxi let out her breath in a sigh of relief and worry. “Now, I know you need something. What is it?”

“I need to borrow a dress from the show,” Marinette explained. “Gabriel wants me to go to the after-party with Adrien.”

Shah Maxi didn’t ask why and Marinette was grateful. She merely nodded and studied Marinette’s blue eyes, dark hair, and porcelain skin. Her gaze slid to Adrien’s dressing room door, surely mapping his features as well. Finally, she snapped her fingers and said, “I know just the dress.” 

Shah Maxi moved through the backstage mess and pulled a short cocktail dress off the rack. She unzipped the garment bag and held it out for Marinette’s approval. “Green is a delicate color, but if you stay with Adrien, it will bring out his eyes.” Shah Maxi opened her mouth to say something else, but shook her head and fell silent.

“It’s beautiful,” Marinette assured Shah Maxi and took the dress gingerly. “Thank you.”

“Be careful,” Shah Maxi said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” Marinette promised. She carried the dress back to Adrien’s room and closed the door behind herself. 

Adrien was sitting in the single chair, eating a granola bar with careful slowness. He looked up when she entered, but didn’t speak. He closed his eyes without moving, giving her the privacy to change her clothes. 

Marinette undressed and draped her jeans, apron, and t-shirt across the arm of Adrien’s chair. She slid the dress up her body and mourned the straps on her bra. She removed it and laid it aside, holding the dress up with one hand. “Can you zip me?” she asked Adrien.

His fingers were warm and gentle as he zipped the dress. Though thin for her size, Marinette had to suck in more than she had ever imagined so that the dress would fit. “God,” she breathed out and fluttered her hands at her waist and chest. She didn’t say anything about how thin the model who wore this dress must have been.

Adrien studied her, his eyes like a physical caress. The dress was a rich emerald green decorated with swirls of dark beading. They reminded Marinette of flowers, of fireworks, of sunbursts. The beading was dense at the bodice and waist, but tapered simply at the edge. The color was delicate against her pale skin and dark hair, but it drew out the gold and green of Adrien. He smiled at her, smoothing her loose hair against her shoulders. 

“Come with me,” he said. He tucked Marinette’s clothing into his messenger bag, slung it over his shoulder, and led her out into the backstage area. It took him only a few moments to acquire a hair stylist and makeup artist. 

Marinette closed her eyes as soft brushes ghosted over her cheeks and eyes and as subtle pink lipstick adorned her mouth. Her hair was brushed and curled, swept up off her neck into an elaborate style, and fastened with invisible bobby pins. Someone managed to find strappy black heels in her size and set them beside her chair.

“Lovely,” Adrien murmured as they finished.

Marinette blushed from the tips of her ears to her toes, buckling the straps at her ankles.

Adrien loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and produced a necklace that Marinette hadn’t noticed earlier. It was a simple silver locket with a swirling symmetrical pattern reminiscent of flowers or clouds. He fastened it around her neck, letting it lay warm from his body against her breasts. She put her fingers against it, confused. 

“You needed something as pretty as you,” he explained and then added, “I only wear it during shows. It was my mother’s. Don’t let anything happen to it.”

Marinette nodded quickly. 

Adrien offered his arm and she slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow. Together, they exited the building and slid into Adrien’s black Mercedes. Marinette sank into the seat as Adrien climbed behind the wheel. They pulled out of the parking lot in silence and drove briskly to the location where Gabriel Agreste held all his soirees. A rich red carpet had been rolled out, leading up to the front doors with paparazzi on all sides. The flashbulbs were like a miniature lightning storm as Marinette stepped out.

As the valet pulled Adrien’s car away and Marinette found his hand again, he whispered through his smile, “Don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

Puzzled, she looked up at him. Hopefully the many pictures would take her expression as adoration rather than concern in the headlines tomorrow. “Why?”

“I don’t want to give anyone a chance to get at you,” he said. “Just stay close to me, please.”

Marinette nodded, tightening her fingers in the soft material of his jacket. 

They swept through the front doors and the relentless clatter of camera shutters and yelling reporters faded. Distantly, Marinette wondered if Alya was here covering the story of Gabriel Agreste’s Fall Fashion Show. She hadn’t spoken to Alya in a few days and she didn’t know what her friend was up to. Usually, she would have delighted in seeing Alya here, but Adrien’s secret still weighed on her tongue. Adrien tugged her arm gently, urging her to keep walking and she hadn’t realized she had ever stopped. 

A stunning ballroom stretched out before them. Buffet tables lines the room, wait-staff in starched uniforms milled between partygoers with silver trays, and a live band played soft music. Beautiful models and investors dressed in the season’s most exotic finery made Marinette feel as though she was wearing a sack. She gripped Adrien a little tighter. Never had she been so reminded of the fact that she was an intern and a waitress and that she was a few weeks behind on her bills.

“Breathe,” Adrien said. “You’re alright.”

Marinette did as he said.

Then, she spotted Chloé wearing the same beautiful black dress and trimmed with diamonds from her head to her toes. Her lip curled, but she swallowed back the anger. If only Chloé had just stayed out of it, maybe things would have turned out differently.

“She’s just a spoiled girl,” Adrien said as though reading her mind. “She’s been denied what she wanted for years. She’s still looking for a way to get it.” 

Marinette dragged her eyes away. “She wants you?”

He nodded and said, “My father wants it too.” 

“What?” Marinette asked incredulously.

Adrien shrugged dismissively. He plucked two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed one to Marinette, and swallowed his like water.

For her part, Marinette took a delicate sip, but it was sweet and bubbly and she soon emptied her glass. She hadn’t realized just how thirsty she was.

“Ah, so you did decide to come,” Gabriel said from behind them. “A wise choice.”

“We’re not staying long,” Adrien told him sharply.

Gabriel’s eyes slid over Marinette, over the way she clung to Adrien’s arm, over the way her dress brought out his emerald eyes. Then, Gabriel’s gaze caught on the locket hanging against Marinette’s breasts—Adrien’s locket, his mother’s locket, Gabriel’s wife’s locket. Her skin prickled, hyperaware of every inch of the chain and how the delicate heart had still been warm from Adrien’s skin. She thought about pulling away to hide.

“No matter what you think of Marinette, she helped me,” Adrien said to his father. “You’re not going to touch her.”

“You’re too much like your mother,” Gabriel said softly. 

Adrien kept his hold on Marinette. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said. “Mom was an amazing person.”

Gabriel didn’t agree or protest. “I still want you to stop working at that club,” he said instead.

“I’ve told you so many times that I’m not going to stop working there and I’m not going to close it down either,” Adrien said. Marinette heard the words hang between them, the protest that the club was all either of them had to remember Adrien’s mother by. She could tell this was a tired argument that they had had many times.

Gabriel turned away from them. “Marinette.”

“Y-yes?” she answered nervously.

“I’ll see you on Monday. I expect you to have a new cat hat to replace the one you cut. Just because it wasn’t modeled doesn’t mean it’s not going to hit the shelves,” he said simply.

Marinette’s heart leaped into her throat. “Yes, of course,” she said hastily. 

Without another word or backwards glance, Gabriel walked away.

Adrien let his breath out slowly.

Potent relief almost knocked Marinette to her knees. Gabriel wanted a replica of her cat hat on Monday. He said he would see her on Monday. She could only assume that meant she wasn’t going to be fired. She still had a job and she still had a career. She still had a chance at making her dream of being a designer come true. 

Adrien tugged her arm gently, guiding her away from the throng of people that had approached Gabriel.

“How many times have you had that argument?” Marinette whispered to him.

“More times than I care to count,” Adrien said, “but it never gets easier.” 

Marinette rasped her thumb over his forearm through his black jacket. 

“We never come to an agreement, either,” he admitted. “It’s going to destroy both of us.”

Marinette didn’t have any advice or assistance to offer him. She continued to gently stroke his arm.

“I need to make a little bit of an appearance,” Adrien muttered. “Will you dance with me?”

Marinette nodded. She didn’t want to be alone in this crowd of overdressed sharks where Gabriel or Chloé could catch her unaware. “I’m not very good,” she confessed. 

“Neither am I,” Adrien admitted. A tiny smile graced his lips as he led her onto the open floor. “I’m much better on a pole. If I start grinding against you, just give me a little swat.”

Marinette smothered her giggle at the last second. 

Adrien rested his hand on the small of her back, his touch butterfly-light, and she put her hand to his shoulder. He held her hand gently, fingers curling around hers. As a new song began, despite it being a smooth waltz, it was almost like being in Le Chat Noir again. The music moved Adrien just as it did Chat Noir. Though he had a tendency to lead each step with his hips, he never stepped on her feet and he kept her from missing steps. They danced for several songs and each became easier. Soon, Marinette found herself floating beside Adrien. 

The opening bars of a tango began, each tiny pulse like the stalking steps of a predator. Most of the people on the dance floor left hastily, unprepared for a spicy song like this, but Adrien’s green eyes sparked. He grinned at her and Marinette couldn’t say no. She let Adrien lead her, shaping her body into a variety of tight twists and turns. His hands slid along her torso, high enough to be scandalous without ever cupping her breasts. Marinette’s blood sparked with the memories of his body against hers, his hands exactly where she wanted them.

She stared into his face, their noses close enough to touch. It would have been easy to kiss him, but then he twirled her away. This time, she found herself with her back against his chest, leaning into him. He pressed her to him, breath hot against the shell of her ear and the side of her throat. He twirled her around just enough to clasp her hand in his own, face to face again. Holding it, he led her through several steps. Her skirt whipped around her legs, swirling high enough that Marinette worried people could see her panties.

Even as the thought flickered through her, Adrien had pulled her back into his arms. He crushed her hips to his and she felt the music pulse through him. Slow and sensual, she gazed into his deep green eyes. His breath tickled her lips, sweetened with champagne. She wound her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his golden hair without thinking. He smirked a moment before he dipped her low. Her leg hooked over his hip and she knew for certain that everyone could see her underwear.

Adrien whipped her back to her feet, twirling her into his arms again. She found his hand and clutched it habitually, the air knocked out of her lungs. He grinned and put his fingertips against her bare shoulder, encouraging her to lean back as far as she could. Marinette did as he asked, trusting her weight to him. Her skirt slid along her thigh, baring it, and she swallowed nervously. Adrien’s hand found her hip and slid down. She thought he would fix her skirt, but he ran his palm over her bared thigh slowly.

She snapped upright, eyes wide. Adrien spun her, the skirt of her short dress pluming around her legs, and then pulled her back to his chest. His hand settled just beneath her breast, holding her close as he took several steps backwards. Marinette tipped her head back into his shoulder, the pale column of her throat exposed. She felt his breath on her skin a moment before his fingers grazed her neck. Holding her hand, he spun her out and then back. As the music ended, they were face to face once again.

Adrien’s green eyes filled her world, sparkling with excitement. Marinette wanted to kiss him. She wondered if he wanted to kiss her as well.

Applause rose all around them, coupled with a few wolf-whistles that Marinette hadn’t expected from such a well-dressed crowd.

From the corner of her eye, Marinette saw Chloé approach. Rainbows were thrown off her every glittering jewel. Her expression was as smooth as a doll’s, makeup disguising whatever she felt. Marinette wondered if she even knew what she had done. If she did, did she care? Before Chloé could reach them, Adrien tucked Marinette’s hand into his elbow and ushered her off the dance floor. 

“That should give everyone enough to talk about for the night,” Adrien remarked. “Maybe I’ll get really lucky and my father will see how sexy dancing can be a good thing, too.”

“Sometimes good luck does come your way,” Marinette told him.

He smiled thinly as they stepped outside.

The valet scrambled to retrieve Adrien’s car. Luckily, most of the paparazzi had gone off for a snack before the party ended much later in the night. Only a few die-hards remained and they took a few cursory pictures of Adrien leaving early with his apparent date. Considering they weren’t arguing and Marinette wasn’t pawing his clothes off, she didn’t hold her breath about finding herself on tomorrow’s front page tabloid. Adrien didn’t look concerned either and kept her hand tucked into his elbow. They slipped into his car as soon as it arrived. 

“Would you like me to drop you off somewhere?” Adrien asked. He glanced over at her, green eyes gleaming in the moonlight. A shadow fell on his cheeks, reminiscent of his mask as Chat Noir. “Or would you like to come to my home?”

“Would that be okay?” Marinette asked tentatively.

Adrien rolled his shoulders, noncommittal. “You already know my biggest secret,” he said. “But it’s your choice.”

“I’d love to,” Marinette said before she could stop herself.

Adrien’s green eyes glimmered and he nodded slowly.

They rode together in comfortable silence. The Mercedes wound through the narrow streets of Paris, allowing Marinette to stare out the window. They drove past Le Chat Noir, which was brightly-lit and pulsing with music. The parking lot was packed and there was a line out the door.

“Do you need to check on the club?” Marinette asked.

Adrien shook his head. “I know they can handle it. I’m only there at night because I like to help out,” he said and then softer, “and because I want to be. Chat Noir is my freedom. As Chat Noir, I can do so many things that Adrien Agreste can’t.”

Marinette didn’t comment on his soft confession.

Adrien put on his turn signal and pulled into a wide parking lot with a dumpster hulking at one end. Marinette tried not to let her surprise show, but he lived in an apartment building not unlike her own. Though it was much nicer with all the weeds pulled from the flowerbeds, the glass in the front doors polished to an almost-dangerous shine, and it had balconies. 

“Here we are,” Adrien said lightly.

“You live here?” Marinette asked, unable to keep the awe from her voice.

“I like it,” he said without defensiveness. He pulled his messenger bag from the backseat, shouldered it, and gestured for Marinette to follow him.

The foyer of his apartment building was stunning. The vintage architecture had been kept in pristine condition, including the large chandelier. The bank of mailboxes was numbered in bronze, the floor was freshly-waxed, and there was even a doorman. Best of all, there was actually an elevator. 

“Good evening, Adrien,” the doorman greeted.

“Hey Monsieur Pigeon,” Adrien answered. “This is Marinette. Don’t give her a hard time.” 

“I would never,” the doorman said, appalled. 

Adrien pressed the button for the elevator and held his hand in front of the sensor while Marinette stepped on. Standing beside her, he let the doors slide closed. Marinette could see her reflection on the shiny brass doors and she resisted the urge to smooth her hair.

“Are you wishing you had an elevator at your apartment?” Adrien asked, hiding his smile.

“You bet,” Marinette answered. 

The elevator stopped just short of the highest floor and the doors slid open. The hallway carpet had been vacuumed and cushioned Marinette’s heels as she followed Adrien to his apartment. He unlocked the door and held it open for her. Immediately, a black cat rushed out to tangle around Marinette’s ankles. 

“Plagg,” Adrien chided. 

“He’s adorable,” Marinette crooned. She scooped the cat up and cuddled him under her chin. “I didn’t realize you had a cat.”

“He’s my best friend,” Adrien said. He scratched behind Plagg’s ears and the cat meowed.

Marinette stepped into the apartment, still cradling Plagg, and looked around. It was neat and tidy, but not obsessively so. A book lay out on the coffee table, colored pillows and blankets were strewn across the leather sofa, and cat toys were scattered across the floor. It was comfortably lived in, a mix between Le Chat Noir and something that was purely Adrien. 

He tugged off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over the kitchen chair along with his tie. His shirt was the same white as his skin. The light of the fridge played on his face as he began taking things out. Marinette watched, puzzled, as he spread pre-sliced mangos, whole milk, pork chops, blocks of cheese, and eggs on the counter. From the cabinet, he pulled down rice, dried apricots and cranberries, boxes of tea, a jar of honey, and even some shredded coconut. Then, he began to cook.

For the first time, Marinette thought she was truly seeing him. She ran her fingers over Plagg’s soft fur and just watched. 

Within fifteen minutes, Adrien reached a point where he was quietly simmering things. He stood at the stove, his back to her, virtually unmoving. Marinette set Plagg down on a nearby cat tree, gave him one final pet when he mewled at her, and approached Adrien. Her heels tap-tapped on the floor and she knew he heard her, but he still didn’t move. 

Marinette unfastened his mother’s locket and slipped it around his neck where it belonged, letting it fall against his chest. Adrien let his breath out, a sigh so soft that she barely heard it. He betrayed himself by moving his fingers to the treasured pendant. Gently, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his warm back. He was so thin. Cautiously, Marinette pressed her palms to his chest and just held him.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered into his shirt.

He nodded, the muscles in his back moving against her cheek as he shifted to stir something on the stove.

“After I told Chat Noir—I mean, you—about Chloé stealing my design, I was called upstairs to the photo shoot. You did that, didn’t you?” 

He nodded.

“Why did you help me?” Marinette asked. “You didn’t even know me.”

“Because…” he murmured, “Because it was something I could do as _Adrien_. There are a lot of things Chat Noir can do for people, but there never seems to be anything that Adrien can do.”

Marinette nodded in understanding, letting the sadness and insecurities hang between them. “How did you know who I was?”

“You paid with your debit card for drinks at Le Chat Noir,” he said simply.

A laugh burst from Marinette’s lips before she could stop it. She had been envisioning him going through all the interns at Agreste Fashions, searching for her, asking everyone who she could be with a description of her dark hair and blue eyes. However, she hadn’t even thought about buying drinks at Le Chat Noir.

“It’s ready,” Adrien said.

Marinette untangled her arms from around him and stepped back.

“Have a seat,” Adrien told her. “And see if you can get Plagg off the table.”

Marinette picked up the black cat, set him on the couch, and then sat down at Adrien’s kitchen table. Mail and magazines were stacked on the unused space, not quite cluttered but she slid a few stacks aside. Adrien plated what he had prepared and set it before her. Marinette’s eyes widened and her mouth watered. 

“It’s not much,” Adrien said softly. “I have to get used to eating again after a show like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Marinette choked out. “This is amazing. It looks delicious!”

Adrien smiled and said, “Bon appétit.”

Marinette didn’t know where to begin. Adrien had lovingly prepared panko-crusted pork chops with mango salsa, apricot and cranberry risotto, and freshly-steamed green beans with slivered almonds. He had placed a steaming teapot between them, along with two mismatched teacups. Adrien spooned honey into his mug and took a sip, breathing out in relief. 

“This is delicious,” Marinette moaned as she scooped the rest of her mango salsa onto her spoon. She was inches away from licking her plate.

“Thank you,” Adrien said. He had been careful to eat small portions, but already some color had returned to his cheeks and his hands were steadier. 

Marinette studied him and the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. “You shouldn’t starve yourself.” 

“I know,” Adrien said softly, “but… despite everything, I want my father to be proud of me.” He gazed down at the bones of his wrist, pale skin and deep veins. “Whenever I model, I think he’s happy with me, even though he doesn’t really show it.”

Marinette breathed out slowly and rose from the table. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said and cleared everything away. 

A few minutes later, when she had her hands plunged into soapy water to her elbows, Adrien joined her in the kitchen. He took each dish, dried it gently, and put it away. He held out the towel for Marinette when she finished and she dried her hands.

“Would you like dessert?” Adrien asked her. “I can toast some coconut.”

Marinette shook her head. “I’m too full to eat another bite. Thank you though,” she said.

Plagg meowed noisily, crouched beside the French doors that led onto the balcony. Adrien crossed to open the door, letting the cat onto the balcony and the night air rushed in. Marinette breathed deeply. It smelled a little like rain and she was grateful that it was Friday. The last thing she wanted right now was to worry about biking to work in the rain tomorrow when her feet would hate her for wearing these heels all night. Adrien leaned against the railing and Marinette came to join him. 

Paris stretched beneath them, the lights twinkling. Music drifted through the night, mingling with laughter and voices. Everything looked perfect and peaceful, glamour disguising the underbelly of a city that devoured people. Somewhere, Marinette had a feeling Chloé was crying, models were starving, and Gabriel was… 

“It’s a beautiful view,” she said to halt her train of thought.

Adrien looked startled, as though he had been thinking the same things she was, before he nodded. “It’s part of the reason I moved in here,” he told her. Plagg swept against his ankles and Adrien scooped up his pet, cuddling the cat beneath his chin.

Marinette reached to pet Plagg, smiling, and her knuckles brushed Adrien’s skin. She looked up into his eyes, so green and deep and sparkling. Her hand went still, resting on Plagg with her touch still lingering against Adrien’s chin. He stepped a little closer to her, lowering Plagg so that the cat could jump to the ground. Marinette’s hand rested on his forearm, curling in the pale material.

They didn’t speak, not about his secret and not about how she would keep it. 

Adrien’s arms circled around her and Marinette curled her fingers in his shirt. His breath was sweet and light on her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed. Then, he kissed her. His mouth was as soft and tender as velvet, moving against hers as though to memorize every curve of her lips. Marinette tangled one hand in his hair, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. He tasted like mangos and honey as she drew his lip into her mouth and sucked.

Adrien nibbled her lip in return, their teeth knocking. Yet the ferocity in their kisses diminished. Adrien left light little pecks on her lips and Marinette kissed him sweetly. She found her eager hands stroking his hair rather than tugging it. He kept her crushed against him in an embrace that made her feel like something beyond precious. They drew apart slowly, resting their foreheads together and breathing each other in. 

They didn’t need to say anything. There was nothing left to say.

X X X

Marinette’s dress: http://heathermcteer.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/emerald-green-satin-cocktail-dress.jpg

A super sexy tango video that I watched for inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3vsiiRK5GU

Questions, comments, concerns?


	10. "You've Given That To Me."

Epic Fanart of Sexy Stripper Chat Noir by Goggles McGee. Link: http://goggles-mcgee.tumblr.com/post/138568279843/like-what-you-see-purr-incess-edited-and

SinningCat also drew some lovely art which Mirth linked to me. Link: http://sinningcat.tumblr.com/post/138660655725/some-one-asked-for-the-g-string-lap-dance-from-le

Ice-blue-fox drew this as well. Link: http://ice-blue-fox.deviantart.com/art/Le-chat-noir-589452385

X X X

Adrien woke the next morning to Plagg’s whiskers tickling his face. With a groan, he pushed the eager cat off his chest and rolled over. He was exhausted to the core, his mind whirling with things he wished he had said to his father in the heat of their argument. He always thought of clever things to say once the moment had passed. Defeated, he buried his face in his pillow. At the foot of the bed, Plagg jumped up and bounded across the coverlet. He found a spot and began kneading, purring as loud as he could. Adrien heard an answering sleepy mumble. He almost bolted up in shock, but then his mind woke the rest of the way. Right, Marinette had spent the night. She had been too exhausted to go home and he hadn’t felt like driving either. 

He had offered to make up the couch for her, but something in his expression must have given him away. She had timidly asked to sleep beside him in his bed, no strings attached. He had given her the remote for the TV and remembered her finding something to watch. He had fallen asleep to Marinette’s fingers in his hair, scratching absently as she dozed off. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well. 

“Plagg,” he hissed at the black cat. “Leave her alone.”

Plagg looked over at Adrien innocently, green eyes bright.

“It’s seven AM,” Adrien scolded. 

Plagg meowed and burrowed down against Marinette’s back, purring like a miniature chainsaw. 

Adrien plucked him off, cuddling the cat beneath his chin. “What am I going to do about you?”

Marinette’s quiet chuckle made Adrien look up from Plagg. She rolled onto her back, one pale arm stretched over her head and the other tucked beneath the covers. Her dark hair was strewn against the pillow in rivulets and curls, beautiful but wild. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand and yawned.

“Sorry,” Adrien said. “I tried to get him before he woke you up.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured him. She sat up, her shoulder brushing his. He had given her a t-shirt to wear in place of her borrowed cocktail dress and the soft material hung against her frame. “My parents are bakers, remember? I usually get up early anyway.”

“This early?” he asked, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

Marinette’s blue eyes sparkled. “Sometimes earlier. How late do you sleep?”

“As late as Plagg will let me,” he said.

“Ah, late nights at Chat Noir,” she remarked in understanding.

“I try to get all my shoots scheduled for the afternoons, but Plagg often has other ideas about what time I should get up and feed him.”

Marinette’s soft wrist brushed his forearm as she tickled Plagg’s belly. “He’s adorable though.”

“You should have seen him when I first brought him home,” Adrien murmured. “He was just a stray, skin and bones, eating out of the dumpster behind Le Grand Paris. I just intended to nurse him back to health and find him a better home, but I… I couldn’t let him go.”

Marinette rested her cheek against Adrien’s shoulder, her breath pluming soft on his shirt. She continued to pet Plagg without speaking. 

Adrien wished she would say something. He wanted to know what she was thinking. Was she disappointed that Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and vice versa? She had promised to keep his secret, but how long would that last before it weighed as heavily on her as it did on him? Would she disappear, never to touch his life again? He almost wished he had revealed himself to someone else earlier, just so he knew what to expect.

“Adrien?” Marinette asked softly.

He jolted, but tried to disguise his nerves. “Yeah?”

“What do we do now?” she asked. 

The night before, things had been too easy. Marinette’s job was safe and his secret was safe. However, the sun had risen now and shone a bright light on everything that had happened and where there was light, there were shadows. He let his breath out slowly and told her honestly, “That’s entirely up to you.”

“Up to me?” she repeated.

He nodded.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know everything,” he told her. “You’ll have to decide what to do with that knowledge.”

Marinette was quiet just long enough to make Adrien’s heart knock unpleasantly against his ribs. Finally, she asked, “Will you make breakfast?”

He nodded, let Plagg jump down, and pulled back the covers. His eyes strayed over her long bare legs, her delicate feet, and her toenails painted pale blue. He thought of how those legs had felt wrapped around his hips, how her lips had tasted, how she had moaned the only name she had known then. What would she sound like now? Which name would she cry out?

Marinette stepped out of the other side of the bed and stretched grandly. The t-shirt pulled up, exposing her cute cotton and lace panties. Adrien turned away. He found some jeans and pulled them on over his boxers for now. He took a pair of sweatpants from his drawer and held them out to Marinette, resisting the urge to keep her in only his shirt. 

She accepted the pants with a smile and said, “I still have my clothes in your bag, remember?”

Adrien’s cheeks warmed. “Right,” he said. “Do you want me to grab them for you?”

Marinette shook her head and smoothed back her wild hair. She tugged on the sweatpants and must have thought something interesting because she blushed hotly. Maybe her thoughts mirrored Adrien’s own—that he liked the sight of her in his clothes. 

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Anything,” she said.

Adrien stepped into the bathroom to wash his face, brush his teeth, and finish waking up. He left out a fresh toothbrush and a towel for Marinette. She waited patiently and he passed her on his way to the kitchen without speaking. He dumped some food in Plagg’s bowl and opened the fridge. He stared into it, trying to think of what to make for breakfast, but his mind emptied. 

“Do you need any help?”

Her voice jolted him and he straightened up quickly with a carton of eggs. “No, no,” he assured her. “It’s fine.” He took out some fresh spinach, precooked bacon, and sliced cheese. Omelets, he decided as he pulled out a nonstick pan. As he whipped the eggs with some milk, Marinette startled him again.

“Whatever you want to ask me,” she said, “just ask me.”

He put down the bowl deliberately and turned his face her, resting his back against the counter. 

She was seated at his kitchen table, absently playing with Plagg with a bundle of feathers attached to a string. She looked just as fair and lovely as she always had, her blue eyes soft and her mouth kissable. 

“The hat. Why did you help me?” he began. She looked troubled and puzzled, but didn’t interrupt. “You destroyed it right in front of my father. You had to know what would have happened if you did that, but you did it anyway. Why did you help me even at such a risk to yourself?”

She answered quicker than he had expected and much more simply. “My parents raised me to do what is right, not what’s easy.”

His eyes betrayed him, even as he tried to school his expression. He could tell by the way her eyes darkened and concern twisted her mouth. 

“Helping you was the right thing to do,” she said sternly, breaking off the protest that wanted to escape him. 

“I never thanked you,” he said instead.

She smiled faintly. “You didn’t have to.”

He closed the space between them, dropping to his knees at her feet. Her legs parted, allowing him to slide close between them. He cupped her cheek, angling her eyes down slightly to meet his. Her skin was warm and soft and she trembled very slightly beneath his fingers. He wished again that he knew what she was thinking.

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” she breathed out.

Her breath tickled his lips, minty and fresh. He closed the space between them and she eagerly tangled her fingers into his golden hair. She tugged insistently, deepening the kiss until she could taste him. He nipped her lower lip and then traced her mouth with his tongue. She sighed softly, her thighs tightening around his chest. He broke the kiss slowly, resting one hand on Marinette’s shoulder to keep her from following him. 

“Back at the club,” he began, “you said you’d like to get to know Chat Noir better.”

Marinette looked confused, but her expression slowly cleared. Sadness pinched the edges of her eyes.

Even over all the times Adrien had fought and pleaded with his father, that had been the hardest conversation he had ever had with someone. He could still feel her skin beneath his fingertips as he gently touched her, hoping to console the words that tasted so bitter in his mouth. He had to turn her down, had to explain that Chat Noir didn’t exist, had to tell her that no one could ever get close to him, but… She knew everything now. 

“Would you like to get to know me better?” he asked softly.

She beamed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over as she dropped to her knees with him on the floor. “Yes,” she said happily. “Yes, I would.”

He held her, his hands resting on her back. “Alya… Is she trustworthy?” 

“Above and beyond,” Marinette said without a second thought. Then, she pulled back slightly to examine him. “Wait, you’re not thinking—”

“You can tell her,” Adrien said and fought away the bolt of worry that sliced through him. He realized now—more than ever—that he couldn’t keep his secret forever. People were going to find out one way or another and it would be better to have a select few on his side for when that moment came rather than leaping into it blind.

“You don’t have to,” Marinette protested. “I won’t tell her, I promise.”

“I know you won’t,” he said. “This isn’t because I don’t trust you. It’s because I do.”

The words sank into Marinette slowly, reaching her eyes and threading through her smile. “Okay,” she murmured. 

“And do me one more favor?” 

“What?”

He leaned close, his lips just brushing hers as he said, “Pick out a song for me.” 

Marinette smiled and it lit up the whole world. She closed the space between them, taking his lower lip between her teeth and sucking. He threaded a hand through her hair, tipping her mouth to slide his tongue deeper. She made a soft sound of bliss. 

Plagg pushed between them, meowing mournfully.

…

It was Saturday night. Even though it was pouring rain outside, Le Chat Noir still throbbed with activity. Pressed against Alya in the crowd before the stage, Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Alya hooked her elbow through Marinette’s and leaned closer so they would whisper-shout to each other.

“What’s all the excitement about tonight?” Alya shouted.

“We’re celebrating,” Marinette told her. 

“I know that much.”

Marinette giggled and hushed Alya as the music began. It had taken her a few days to choose a song for Adrien, but she was convinced she had picked a good once. The opening bars began and Alya knocked her with a hip. Lights danced and swirled across the empty smoky stage, calling everyone’s attention to the main act.

“You dog,” Alya said cheekily.

Marinette shrugged innocently. “What? I picked the clean version.”

“But we all know the lyrics.”

As the beat dropped, the curtains whipped open and there he was. Adrien hurled himself through the curtains like a force of nature, his green eyes electric behind Chat Noir’s mask. It didn’t take more than an instant for him to locate Marinette in the audience. His lips split into a sultry grin, his eyes only for her.

“I know you want me,” Enrique Iglesias sang, “I made it obvious that I want you too.”

The beat was strong and heady, giving Adrien plenty to rock his hips with. He took his time approaching the pole, making sure every woman in the club wished they could take its place. He stalked it, creeping around with his tail swirling between his fingers. He paused just in front of the pole and leaned back against it, rolling his entire body into the lyrics. 

“Now rock your body! Damn, I like the way that you move!” 

He let one hand trail over his chest, lowering the zipper of his black leather vest. He tossed it open, sliding it down his shoulders to show every inch of pale skin. He was still lacking a little weight around his ribcage and hips, but the lights disguised it well. He rested his palm against the waistband of his pants, drawing attention to what hid beneath. Marinette’s eyes drank in his every move and he smirked at her. 

“So give it to me,” he lip-synced and stretched his hand out enticingly. “Cause I already know what you wanna do.”

The music swelled and he ripped off his pants. There was a time Marinette would have looked away from his g-string, but her eyes stayed with him even through the shower of bills that covered the stage. He hooked his leg around the pole and leaned back, his eyes sparkling in the spotlight.

“Here’s the situation, been to every nation. Nobody’s ever made me feel the way that you do,” Enrique Iglesias continued. His voice was molten honey, washing over the audience and rolling down Adrien’s body. He could see why Marinette had chosen this song for him. 

Adrien swung himself around the pole, gripping it with one arm and stretching out. His muscles played beneath his skin, tantalizing even as sweat beaded on his shoulders. “You know my motivation, given my reputation. Please, excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude.” He winked at Marinette.

In one smooth move, he dropped from the pole and landed on his knees at the edge of the stage just in time for his favorite lyric. “But tonight I’m loving you,” he sang along.

The crowd cheered loud enough to drown out the music and he momentarily lost his place. He felt hands slide against his hips and belly, tucking money into his g-string, but he kept his eyes on Marinette. She put a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss. Beside her, Alya rolled her eyes but smiled.

…

When his set ended, Adrien gathered up his earnings and distributed it throughout his dancers backstage. He put his pants back on, but didn’t bother with a shirt. Making sure his mask was still in place, he made his way down the hallway and slipped out from behind the bar. Marinette was waiting for him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She accepted a kiss despite how sweaty he was, her fingers clutching his slick shoulders. 

“Get a room,” Alya said plainly and turned her back on them. “Jeez, Max, I need a drink.”

Max mixed her a rum and coke and slid it to her, grinning. It was no secret that everyone who worked at Le Chat Noir was happy their boss had found someone who could accept and even enjoy his work at the club. Nathanaël asked Chat Noir how Marinette was doing almost every night and Chat Noir always had this secretively overjoyed little smile when he answered. 

“Did you like the performance?” Adrien said into Marinette’s ear.

She shivered as his voice ran down her spine. “It was amazing,” she said in return.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“I promised Alya—”

“Go!” Alya said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I can’t stand the two of you any longer. You’re atrociously cute.”

Max’s eyes cut sharply behind Adrien and he tap-tapped his palm against the bar. Invisible communication passed between them. Adrien turned around quickly and warded Chloé away from Marinette with one hand. Chloé didn’t even bother to look at Chat Noir and batted his hand aside.

“Marinette,” Chloé said urgently. She wasn’t drunk, but her voice had an edge that suggested she had had a few already. “I have to talk to you!”

“About what?” Marinette asked. Her voice was restrained and measured, without venom or sympathy. 

Chloé reached for her again and Adrien knocked her hand aside. For the first time, Chloé looked at him. Her eyes flickered over his bare chest, the bell at his throat, his black mask. Tears swelled in her eyes, glittered like jewels but didn’t fall. “How can you be here?” Chloé sobbed out. “Why aren’t you with Adrien?”

“Adrien and I have,” her hesitation betrayed her emotions, “an open relationship.”

Sorrow speared through Adrien, hidden behind the protection of Chat Noir, but Marinette was still Marinette. To anyone who didn’t know—and the only ones who did were Alya and Nino—Marinette looked like the kind of girl who needed two men, who wouldn’t be happy with one or the other. He couldn’t imagine what Marinette was thinking in the face of Chloé spelling it out.

“He’s not enough for you?” Chloé continued, her voice cracking. 

Marinette didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Adrien’s arm still rested around the curve of her shoulders and he tightened his grasp in a way he hoped was comforting.

Chloé reached for Marinette again, imploringly. “Let me have Adrien. Please, he’s all I ever wanted.”

“He’s not someone I can give away,” Marinette said firmly. “Adrien is a person, not a war prize.”

Chloé blotted her eyes with her sleeve, refusing to let the tears fall. “I can’t believe you,” she hissed. “I bet that’s why you made that hat. You wanted Adrien to look like,” she cut her eyes like daggers over Chat Noir, “to look like him.”

“You’ll never understand, Chloé,” Marinette said softly. 

Chloé was finished listening, though. She turned on her heel and walked away. A few feet down the bar, she leaned over it and ordered a drink from Max. He slid her some beverage napkins as well and Marinette watched as Chloé mopped her cheeks. 

“Jeez, that’s rough,” Alya said. She offered Marinette a sip of her drink.

“It’s not like we can explain,” Marinette murmured and accepted a sip of rum and coke. The coldness slid down her throat and into her belly. She wished it would numb the way she felt about all this. No matter how many times tabloid reporters or designers at Agreste Fashions asked her about her ‘open relationship’ with Adrien, she felt as though she was doing something wrong all over again.

Adrien squeezed her to his side, his fingertips toying with her loose hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, nose brushing the side of her head as he leaned close. He wished he could make this better, take away the difficulty and judgment, but he couldn’t give up Le Chat Noir. If Marinette chose to walk away, he would have to watch her go.

Marinette smiled up at him, her blue eyes bright. 

“Buck up,” Alya said. “People who don’t understand will never understand. All that matters is the people you love, love you right back.” She clasped Marinette’s shoulder, her hand lying warm atop Adrien’s. “And, I love you both.”

Marinette embraced Alya briefly, the moment of silence between them saying everything they needed and more.

“Off with you,” Alya said when they broke apart. “Disgustingly adorable, remember?”

Chuckling, Adrien tucked Marinette into his side. Into the bell at his throat, he let everyone know he was leaving for the night. Kim opened the door with a smile and let it close behind them. The cool Parisian air wrapped around them, blotting out the pulsing music. Everything glistened with rain, but it had slowed to a faint drizzle that misted their hair and clothes. It was beautiful and it smelled amazing. Marinette breathed deeply.

“Are you alright with this?” he asked softly as they walked to his Mercedes. 

“The rain?” she asked, tearing her eyes from the cloudy night sky.

Adrien looked at her, his green eyes sharp behind his mask. 

“Mm-hmm,” she told him once she caught his train of thought. “Every relationship has its challenges. When my parents met, my dad didn’t speak a word of Mandarin Chinese and my mom couldn’t understand French. They made it work, though.” A little laugh escaped her lips. “My dad cooked for her and that was their language. Even now, whenever she’s mad at him, he just cooks something.” Her voice trailed off and Adrien thought she wasn’t going to say anything else when she finally whispered, “They’ve been married for almost twenty years now.”

Adrien sighed softly, thinking of his parents. He wanted to share, but his memories were fuzzy. He had been too young when his mother died and Gabriel didn’t talk about her much. Finally, he said, “If my mom managed to put up with my father for all those years. She must have really loved him.”

Marinette pulled open the passenger side door and slipped into the plush interior. “See?” she remarked. “Besides, Alya was right. As long as she knows the truth, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Adrien closed her door and slipped behind the wheel. The engine purred to life and he pulled out of the parking lot. Adrien knew better than to think everything would work out, but he hoped there would be a time when he didn’t have to hide who he was. Maybe his father would come around, maybe he could tell everyone that Le Chat Noir belonged to his mother, maybe Marinette wouldn’t have to dance this dance in order to be with him.

Across the center console, Marinette’s warm hand slid over his and squeezed. He intertwined their fingers, sweeping the pad of his thumb over her knuckles gently. As he parked in the lot below his apartment building, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her hand gently. His lips lingered as his eyes tracked up her arm to meet her gaze. She stared back at him, blue eyes soft and tender. Slowly, she reached out and slid her fingers beneath his mask. Silently, he let her peel it away. Marinette cradled his cheek in her hand and he leaned into the touch. 

“Come on,” she said softly.

He nodded and carefully released her hand.

Together, they walked into his building and bid a brief greeting to Monsieur Pigeon. Marinette pushed the button for the elevator, grinning to herself. She wouldn’t say she had moved in with Adrien, but she definitely spent more nights at his place than she did at her own. The novelty of his building’s elevator hadn’t worn off, though. Every time she climbed the three flights of stairs to her own apartment, she thought about it fondly.

Adrien tucked his face into her hair. “You know, I heard that plenty of girls date guys because of their equipment, but I didn’t think this is what they meant.”

Marinette leaned her weight into him. “Your elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top,” she retorted. “It’s a good thing you’re so handsome or you’d have nothing going for you.”

Adrien chuckled as the doors peeled open and stepped in with her. Standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her small body, he couldn’t see her expression, but he could feel her breath and smell her skin. She was so warm and soft, leaned into him trustingly. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, letting his lips linger longer than necessary. She sighed, her body relaxing into him as she let her breath out. Adrien almost hated when the doors opened and they were forced to separate. 

Marinette scooped up Plagg as soon as Adrien opened the door, smiling and cooing into his soft black fur. 

“Maybe you just like me for my cat,” Adrien remarked.

Marinette’s eyes flashed with mirth, but she bit back the obvious joke she could have made. 

Adrien smiled as he cupped her face and pulled her to him. His kiss was hesitant, tender, as soft as a butterfly alighting on a flower. He felt the familiar tingle in his stomach followed by the briefest flicker of concern that she would push him away. He couldn’t explain it—this fear that gripped him deep inside that this could all be over in an instant. However, Marinette let Plagg down and her hands came up to tangle in Adrien’s golden hair. She pulled him against her with a strength that bordered on ferocity and his fears slowly melted away. 

He had never felt like this before. He had never had a relationship like this. He had never been with someone like her, someone who knew all his secrets and everything about him. All his relationships had been short, made with people who only knew half of him and could never know entirely. Marinette was the first.

“What is it?” she whispered when the kiss ended, her forehead resting against his.

“Just thinking,” he confessed.

“About what?”

“You,” he said and that was all.

Marinette smiled gently at him and her blue eyes filled up the world. 

Adrien felt every inch of her body pressed against his own, her soft curves and small breasts that dipped with each exhale. He wrapped his arms around her and smoothly lifted her up. Squealing slightly, Marinette coiled her arms around his neck and clung to him. He carried her to his room and laid her across the coverlet. 

Outside the window, the storm picked up. Rain pattered like little fingers on the glass, tap-tapping to be let inside. Thunder and lightning hadn’t joined the fray yet, but it was coming. 

Marinette stared up at him. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, just the gleam through the darkness. He turned on his bedside lamp, setting her awash in a glow of amber. On account of the rain, she wore a knitted grey skirt and thick-soled boots. Over that, she had on a simple long-sleeved shirt with buttons between her breasts that he had been dying to undo all night. Now that he had her alone in his room, he gave in to his desire. 

He lowered his mouth to her throat, feathering kisses over her skin until she arched off the mattress. He caught the first button between his teeth and unfastened it deftly. He did the same to most of them before Marinette noticed and gasped. Her breasts swelled over the cup of her exposed bra and he drew his lips against the seam, making her shiver. She tangled her fingers into his hair and tugged him away from her breasts, smiling into his kiss. 

Adrien loosened her grip by shaking his head. He held her gaze as he kissed his way down to her waist. She tensed, a flush of want washing over her face and chest, but he bypassed where she must have wanted him the most. He unzipped the side of her boot and slid one off. He cradled her bare calf in his hand, lowering his lips to the inside of her ankle just above her sock. He kissed and then nipped gently. A tiny sound escaped her lips and her toes curled against his palm.

He smiled, trailing his lips over her calf. He paused at the bend just behind her knee. He had lifted and spread her legs enough to make her skirt fall up and leave her exposed, but he didn’t act on it. He drew his tongue over her knee and then kissed again. He switched to her other leg and worked his way down, removing her second boot. He peeled off her socks, admiring her tiny painted toenails. He let her rest her feet against his chest as he gazed down at her. 

“What?” she asked. She was a beautiful sight, her shirt opened across her breasts and her skirt hitched up to expose her panties.

“Nothing,” he said and slid his hands under her skirt. He pulled it down and dropped it aside, followed by her shirt. He kissed along her side, rubbing his nose over her skin. His breath plumed against her and she shuddered beneath him. 

“Adrien,” she whispered. “Please, just…”

The sound of his name—his real name, not Chat Noir—sent a shiver down his spine. He scraped his teeth over her hip, just above the band of her panties, and she gasped. He felt her knees against his belly and gently parted her legs so he could settle between them. She immediately coiled around him, heels pressing into his lower back and flattening him along her. He kissed her again, lingering, absorbing her breath into himself.

She ran her hands down his back, still bare from his time at Le Chat Noir. He wore only his bell collar, his tear-away pants, and his g-string beneath. She made quick work of his pants and felt his arousal straining against the tiny fabric. She sucked the soft skin beneath his collar, but the bell didn’t jingle as it brushed her cheek. He straightened slightly, unclasped the tiny radio, and put it aside. Marinette clutched him, her teeth wandering the span of his pulse.

He unfastened her bra and she sat up, pressing into him, so he could slide the straps down her arms. Bare chest to chest, a tiny sound almost like a purr escaped him. She was so close, so warm, so soft. If she heard him, she didn’t react save to kiss him a little deeper. Her fingers clutched his bare back like a lifeline, nails rasping gently across his skin. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, hot and demanding as she licked against his teeth.

He nibbled her lower lip as she pushed down the g-string and wrapped her fingers around his length. He groaned, hips rocking into her habitually. He pushed aside her panties so he could touch her without untangling their bodies. She was so wet and warm. A little whimper escaped her lips, filling him up, as he slipped two fingers into her. 

“Ah, Adrien,” she pleaded.

“Marinette,” he answered. It felt almost as good to say her name as it did to hear his own. He reached into his nightstand to produce a condom, tearing it with his teeth so he wouldn’t have to remove his fingers from her. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

He rolled the condom over himself and slowly pushed into her. She gasped, all the breath leaving her lungs as his size filled her to the brim. When he was sheathed as completely as he could be, she wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly and just held all of him within herself. 

“Move,” she pleaded. 

He thrust slowly, letting her tiny body adjust, but she clawed into his back until he sped up. Her breasts rocked with each thrust and her breath puffed from her lips. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, and she moaned. He wanted to hear that sound forever. He braced himself on one arm so he could look down and memorize her pleasured face. Gasping, her eyes closed in delight, her pale skin flushed and her dark hair strewn in rivulets around her head—she was the most beautiful sight.

She ran her nails down his chest, bringing him back to earth. He lowered himself into her arms, letting her anchor herself to his body in the sea of pleasure that crashed over her. She kissed him, panting, open-mouthed. He quickened his pace, holding her hips with one hand until she found a rhythm to match him. Beneath him, she jolted and gasped as he found something tender and perfect inside her. 

“Ah, there, Adrien, there,” she whispered.

He angled his hips slightly, just enough to find that spot over and over. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, tiny whimpers and pleas sliding from her lips without formation. He kissed her lips briefly before doubling his efforts to bring her over the edge. It didn’t take much, a few strokes of her clit before he felt her clenching tightly around him. She cried out so softly that he barely heard it, pleasure overriding everything inside her. 

Slowly, she returned to herself. Her blue eyes slid open and she gazed up at him, smiling like he hung the stars in the sky. “Again,” she whispered.

He kissed her, wrapped one arm around her hips, held her to him, and rolled them both over so that she could be on top. It was his turn to stare up at her, but she was more stunning than any star. She gasped, her hand pressing into his lower belly as she adjusted her position. He was so big and deep, filling her thoroughly. 

“Did you come?” she whispered.

He shook his head.

Smiling, she began to move, rocking and grinding down against him. He gazed up at her, filling his mind with the fall of her hair and the shape of her breasts. He cupped them in his hands and ran his thumbs over her nipples, memorizing the way her lips parted as she moaned. He placed his thumb just above her clit as she rode him, giving her all the stimulation she could take. She moaned and tipped her head back to gasp breathlessly. 

He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations of her like a burning star above him. He could feel her hands, fluttering over his chest to anchor herself. He could feel her pulse deep inside, her heat, the wetness of her previous orgasm. She was every thought in his mind.

“Marinette,” he moaned.

Her muscles clutched around him, tightening like a miniature fist, and dragged him over the edge.

He stroked her pearl, smiling through the haze of his own pleasure as she followed him again. 

Marinette collapsed against his chest, her head tucked into the side of his throat. He let her lay there until he couldn’t bear the sticky heat of the condom anymore. Gently, he lifted her up, untangled from her, and carried her into the bathroom. He had a large Jacuzzi tub, perched her on the edge of it, and started the water. He discarded the condom. Marinette watched him, her eyes glowing, as he poured bubble bath into the stream of water and tested its temperature. 

When it was half-full, he stepped into the bubbles and sank down. She slid in after him, resting against his chest. His lingering erection pressed against her lower back, but he ignored it and let the warm water soak it away. Sleepily, she curled into his arms and rested her cheek just over his heart. After a while, Plagg wandered into the bathroom and jumped onto the edge, watching them with bright cat eyes. Adrien shut off the water and turned on the jets. The bubbles churned all around them, washing away the stress of the day.

He stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders, memorizing every curve and freckle on her body. Her fingertips, rough from countless needle pricks, traced a mindless shape on his hipbone. Her warm breath puffed against his damp skin.

Marinette’s voice broke his aimless enjoyment. “Do you wish you could take it back?” 

“Take what back?” he asked.

“The moment I found out.”

Adrien sighed softly and rested his cheek on the top of her head. She didn’t move to look up at him and didn’t seem outwardly troubled, just curious. With a shake of his head, he admitted, “No. I wouldn’t take it back.”

“But, your secret…”

“Acceptance,” he said softly.

She tugged away slightly, sitting up enough to look into his eyes. The water sloshed against her back and just beneath her breasts, but she didn’t try to cover herself. He traced the shape of her breast with his fingertips, trailing up to her collarbone and along her cheek. She leaned into his touch, eyes focused on his face. 

“I think acceptance is the key to be truly free,” he told her. “You’ve given that to me.”

Marinette pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, tender and sweet. He wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her into his chest. 

Comfortable, she stretched out one damp bubble-coated hand to pet Plagg and the black cat meowed plaintively. He shook himself, black fur sticking up beneath a crest of bubbles. Marinette giggled and sank into Adrien’s arms, dancing her fingers in front of Plagg’s bright eyes. There were so many things in his life that Adrien would have loved to change—his father, his career, his mother’s death, her club—but Marinette was not one of them. He wouldn’t change anything that had happened between them—not one thing.

X X X

Ah, I’m satisfied. Is everyone else satisfied? (There will be no sequel, so don’t even…) I’d like to thank everyone for their support on this story. It was really astonishing! Stay tuned for my next story. I’m toying with the idea of writing a horror ghost-story type idea next.

Questions, comments, concerns?


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